


So Good, Baby Boy.

by OverlordWaffles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Age Play, Anal Fisting, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday Sex, Bloodplay, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Brothers, Brutality, Camping, Dirty Talk, Disowning, Feminization, Guns, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Power Play, Protective John Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape, Rape Recovery, Sick Dean Winchester, Tummy Bulging, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Useless John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlordWaffles/pseuds/OverlordWaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 year old Dean and 12 year old Sam get jumped on their way home from school. Unable to save his boys, John is forced to watch as Dean is brutalized and sacrifices himself for his brother to the human monsters at his back. Will Dean be able to cope with the aftermath of his assault? Will any one be able to stop the abuse before it's too late? How will Sam handle seeing his idol damaged so badly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very graphic, very brutal, and was hard to write. Please be warned! This will have a happy ending (probably), but it won't be a happy journey getting there. Please proceed with caution!

It was worse than the night the fire burned up his wife. It was worse than the night Sam ran away to Flagstaff. It was worse than any of the hells he'd made his sons live through just by association...and it was goddamn humans ripping their claws into his family. 

"You sick sons of bitches." John growled low, knife in his white knuckled hand, hanging just by his side, ready to be up and used in less than a second the moment he had any sort of opening; any hope. "You let my sons go." He felt sick, terror crawling it's way up his throat as he saw his beautiful boys held, being threatened like that. 

"You hear that, TJ?" The bigger one laughed, hand tightening harder around Dean's fragile neck, sharp metal tipped gloves digging faux claws into Dean's tender skin, a single line of red dripping down the teen's neck from a puncture at the base of his throat. "We scored us a nice set of baby boys, didn't we?" The nasty, smoke rough voice was full of sick delight, his tongue darting out to slither across Dean's delicate ear and to nip at his lobe. "And papa bear's got a front row seat to the show. Thinks he can order us around." 

The one off to the side, TJ, as the bigger one had identified, smirked cruelly from where he was positioned. His gun was poised at Sammy's head where the younger brother was pinned to the ground on his chest. TJ was kneeling on his small frame, a knee jammed into his upper back between his shoulder blades, the boy's small wrists were twisted up and pinned next to it, his other leg trapping Sam's own slender legs from flailing beneath him. He was perched on the twelve year olds' back in such a way he had full view of Dean in his partner's hold, eyes set now on John as the gun pressed into the side of Sam's head where it was tilted so he could see everything that was going on to his older brother, as well. Tears were streaming down his bruised face, and from John's quick assessment had Dean's over shirt he'd been wearing earlier shoved into his mouth to stop him from making any noise. 

"Aint that a treat." TJ drawled, digging the gun into Sam's temple harder, drawing a muffled whine of pain from him where the metal dug into a deep purple bruise. "Not often we get an audience." 

"Specially one that knows how to fight. Pity it's pointless to try." The unnamed one purred from where he was kneeling behind Dean on the dirty concrete floor. He had the older brother on his knees in front of him, hands tied up with Dean's own belt, his jean's unbuttoned and unzipped already. The green eyed teen's eyes were hooded with pain, but sharp with defiance, tracking his Dad with a desperate hope. Dean hadn't gone down without a fight. Neither had Sam. It was clear as day, and John would have praised him if not for the more pressing matter at hand. His battered son was still a pretty sight to see with his full pink lips, his vibrant green eyes, his creamy golden skin and soft brown freckles. The bruises across his jaw, the blood running down his nose from a gash and swollen lump on his forehead hardly took away any of his youthful good looks, and there was a man pressed into his back with a giant paw around his throat. 

John made an aborted step forward, only to freeze up when he saw the tip of another clawed digit dig into Dean's throat, a fresh stream of blood flowing down his neck into his blood stained and torn under shirt. Dean's face went paler, a pink flash of color highlighting his freckled cheekbones as oxygen was cut off and he gasped inaudibly for air, shoulders quacking as his hands twisted in their binds behind his back trying to get free so he could claw at the hand blocking his air. 

"Ah, ah, ah!" The big man tisked, at John, a sick smile curling his lips. "Any closer and pretty green eyes here gets his throat ripped open." His eyes were cold and sharp where they peered over Dean's broad, but still small frame. The kid was only sixteen, still coming into his own body as puberty made him grow taller, fill out more. He had muscled in all the right places from training and hunting, but he was still small. He was almost John's height, now, sure, but he was just a kid, and the man behind him was built like a bear. He was all broad, big muscles, sharp cruel facial features, gruff and grizzly. He was bigger than John, and he absolutely dwarfed Dean. He had one hand tight around Dean's throat, and his other arm wrapped around Dean's front, possessively holding on to a slender hip, holding Dean tight against his bigger body with ease. 

Sam let out a muffled cry, twisting on the ground helplessly under the smaller of the two assailants. Even though he was smaller than Bear, TJ was built like a barge, too. He was about John's own height and build, but he obviously had more muscle on him, just a bit broader, a bit heavier. He looked like he could break Sam like a twig. 

"Back away, or you lose baby boy here." Bear said, making a show of how easy it was to move Dean's head around with the grip on his neck, pushing Dean's head back so his neck was bent backwards, head on his big shoulder, pale neck exposed more to the big clawing hands on his bruising neck. 

John's heart plummeted as he saw the color leaving Dean, the faint twinge of blue creeping into his lips as air was cut off the longer John stood their unmoving. He was helpless to do anything, any move he made risked his son's lives. He didn't have his gun on him, and he was completely unprepared. The knife in his grip did no good to a man with a gun to his son's head and a hand on his eldest's neck. He took a jerky step backward, face falling as he realized how helpless he was. He had no hope of rescuing his boys. He could only pray Bobby was still on the other end of the phone where it rest in his jacket pocket. He'd called for backup when he realized something had taken his sons, thinking it was a monster. After not having been able to find Sam and Dean for nearly an hour after making it back to their apartment, panic had set it. It had taken him too long to find the self storage building not far from the school and their apartment, a popular bikers bar not too far down a nearby street, too. The sick bastards must've known that kids walked back from school nearby, and had waited to catch a few. When they'd seen Sam and Dean walking together a good half hour after the rest of the school had gotten out (because of a club Sammy stayed after for), they'd known they'd found their targets. No parents around, and no big audience. John had been attracted to the correct storage unit because of the sounds of the end of Dean and Sam's fight. They'd bought him time to find them, but not enough.

"Drop the knife." TJ snarled next, eyes unwavering where they watched John. "Now." His free hand twisted one of Sam's wrists just enough for John to worry about it breaking with a little more pressure. The pain on the muffled boys face was enough incentive, and John dropped the knife with a clatter. Oh god. His boys. 

"Good." Bear smirked, drawing John's attention back to him and Dean. He barely got any warning before he noticed the panicked look in Dean's wide green eyes where he was staring over his Dad's shoulder. He twisted and mouthed wordlessly for him to turn around, trying to warn his dad, but it was too late. John saw the shadow of someone behind him just as something hit him hard on the back of the head. He went down with a clatter, vision spinning as he teetered on the edges of consciousness, feeling blood slide down the back of his neck.

Weaponless, now, and injured the newcomer quickly took him down, grabbing John's wrists and tying them tight together before he was being dragged up to his feet again, arms yanked above his head and looped on to a hook, rope twisting around the end several times before he was left to dangle just on the edge of his tiptoes. The door to the storage unit closed with a bang, after that, clicking shut to the outside world. The newcomer walked around in front of John and smiled. He was built like the other two men, and it was with horrified understanding that John pieced together their relations. 

"Hello, brothers." The newcomer said, right on cue. His smile was sugary sweet as he appraised John before turning to face the other two men on the floor. He whistled when he saw their catch, saw John's boys trapped in his sibling's arms. "Oh, very nice catch. Looks like you had some fun with these two already." He chuckled, walking forward and closer to Bear and John's eldest son. 

"Feisty little fuckers, these two." Bear grinned up at the newcomer. "Gave us a good fight. Got some training, they do." He glanced at John where he was dangling, dazed and dizzy with a bleeding lump throbbing on the back of his head. "Papa bear over their oughta be proud of them." Bear rolled Dean's head around so it was tucked slightly under his head, like a doll being held. "Green eyes here even had three separate knives on him." He said, showing off his catch.

The newcomer licked his lips, taking in the sight of the trapped boy in front of him. He reached out and cupped Dean's pale cheek, John's only comfort coming from the color that had returned to his cheeks with the loosened choke hold, and the dark defiance still burning there as he glared up at his assailant. "He's got some life in him." He purred, trailing a finger through the stream of blood on Dean's nose, smiling at the flinch he got when he brushed a thumb over one of his eyes. "He's a pretty one." He smiled big. "Good job, Max." He praised the big man still holding Dean captive. "I like this one already." 

Bear, or Max as he'd just been named, beamed with pride. "Got his little brother, too." He said nodding over to where TJ had Sam. "Scrawny thing, but just as much fight in him as this one. Definitely been trained together. Had each others backs til we got uhm seperated." 

The yet unnamed man walked over to TJ and Sam, earning a low growl from Dean. As he squatted down in front of Sam's tear streaked face he heard Max hiss something harsh into Dean's ear to settle down. A childlike smile curled the ringleader's face as he wiped the same finger he'd used on Dean's blood across Sam's wet cheek, smearing blood over purpled flesh. "Oh, this one has some rage inside of him." He laughed, patting Sam's cheek as it flushed hot with anger. "You did good, real good." He praised, standing up again, rolling his shoulders before walking over to John purposefully.

"You still with us, papa?" He smeared his tear wet and blood streaked fingers into John's scruff covered jaw, forcing his eyes up to focus on malicious dark brown ones. "Good." He said when John's angry, dazed and desperate eyes met his. "Not used to not being able to protect them, are you." He said observationally. "I almost feel bad for you." Max snickered from behind him. "I'm going to give you a treat, though." He punched John hard in the stomach, and then hard across the face. "I'm going to give you a memory to cherish for a life time." He grinned manically. "Something to share with your pretty baby boys over there." He laughed, kicking out John's legs once he saw the light of understanding in John's eyes. He turned back to the struggling children waiting for him. His eyes fell on Dean instantly, so prettily presented to him by his brother.. 

"Can we play now, Artie?" Max asked with childlike eagerness, licking up a little of the blood on Dean's neck with a wide wet tongue. "I want to play with this one so badly." He nearly whined, grinding into Dean's back as he rocked the boy's body back into him. Dean bit back a snarl at the feel of another man rubbing his erection into his ass. It was wrong, so very wrong, and he didn't like the sound of "play" at all. 

Artie sauntered over to Dean and stood in front of him, peering into those wild green eyes. "TJ." He called, not looking away from Dean's face. "Strip the little one." He ordered, taking in the display that was a bloodied, outraged Dean. 

Dean's eyes went wide and he started thrashing violently in Max's arms, straining against him as he forced his voice out past the tight grip still on his neck. "Youleavehimaloneyousicksonofabitch!" He growled, nearly knocking Max off him with his renewed anger, only to be grabbed tighter and pulled deeper into Max's arms. 

Artie smirked, grabbing Dean's jaw as TJ stood up, dragging Sam with him. "What's your name pretty boy?" He asked, running a thumb over Dean's lips and snagging his bottom one with a nail as the pink flesh twitch with anger. "Tell me truthfully." 

Dean twisted hard in Max's new grip on him, both the man's arms tight around his chest now, letting his throat free at last, holding him tighter, more firmly as Artie took control of his face. It immobilized Dean more, but gave him his voice back. Dean grit his teeth at the older man in front of him, growling low. "Let my brother go."

"Name. Now, or baby brother gets his wrist broken." Artie snapped, slapping Dean hard enough to twist his head to the side to see TJ manhandling Sam out of his clothes. The littler Winchester was no match to the big hands, or the way the man used his shirt fabric to twist his arms together in a make shift bind . His body was covered with bruises from where he'd fought, but luckily no blood was seen on him besides the single smear of Dean's own across his cheek. "His name, too." Artie demanded.

Dean's faced paled of color as he saw TJ practically rip Sam's pants and underwear off, tossing the clothes at John's feet with a cruel quirk of his lips. He stood now with the gun tucked under Sam's vulnerable chin, holding the twelve year olds shirt entrapped wrists in his free hand, waiting for further orders. 

Dean shuddered, eyes darting frantically between his exposed brother, his trussed up and steadily bleeding father, and the monster of a man in front of him. "D-Dean." He croaked out, swallowing hard and lowering his eyes as they darted to his brother again. "a-and…" Green caught on Sam's hazel eyes for a split second, seeing the frightened look in his baby brother's eyes. With a little spark of defiance Dean scrambled his brain for a name, any name but Sam's. "Dean and Scott." He bit out. "Scottie…" He faux corrected himself, looking away in shame. If he could he'd spare Sam the humiliation of his name being thrown around throughout whatever torture they were put through. It would be a small victory if the man accepted it, but it would make Dean feel better. 

Artie raised a brow at him, twisting Dean's head back to stare at him. He searched Dean's eyes for the truth, thinking he'd gotten it, he thumbed his way through Dean's blood again, smearing it across his nose. 

"Dean. That's a good, sturdy name." He said with a lazy look to the way the blood stained his finger tip. "Dean." He rolled the name on his tongue like he was tasting it, smacking his lips and leaning down. "Dean, Dean, Dean." He repeated the name as his eyes roved over the teen's bruised face. "You're a good, smart boy aren't you? You'd do anything to keep your precious Scottie safe, wouldn't you?" He ran a finger nail down from Dean's chin to the hollow of his throat beneath his small adam's apple. "I can tell just by your reactions you'd do anything to keep him safe, wouldn't you?" 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, nodding once. "Don't hurt him. Do whatever you want to me, but you don't touch him." He demanded in a pleading voice, not having to hide the desperation in his voice. He could see the threat to his brothers well being from a mile a way, and if he could stop any harm from befalling Sam, than he would. He could put up with whatever this monster did, as long as Sammy made it through this safe. Or at least spared anything else they had in mind. "Please, he's just a kid, let him go, please." He begged, looking desperately to his frightened little brother, seeing the panic in those hazel eyes at Dean's words. 

Artie smiled sweetly, leaning down close to Dean's face. "You're such a good big brother, aren't you? Trying to protect your brother. I admire that. I'd do anything for my brothers. You've did a good job, Dean, put up a better fight than your daddy did." He glanced over at John who was fighting to stay conscious. "Look at him, barely even scratched and he's just hanging there uselessly." He felt the tremor in Dean's frame as his father's uselessness was pointed out plain as day, their only hope of rescue gone. "But you, you're still fighting for your brother, aren't you? Willing to take any pain I give you, any punishment I see fit if it means baby brother Scottie stays safe." 

Dean nodded weakly. "Anything…" He whispered hoarsely, a heavy stone settling in his heart at the mere thought of Sam being hurt. "Just let him go, please. Don't hurt him." 

Artie leaned in and pressed a wet, silencing kiss on Dean's plump lips, tasting the bitterness of defeat on his lips, plundering in deep before pulling back to admire the look of disgust on the boy's face, to hear the muffled weak cries of distress from Sam and from John. When Dean said nothing about the treatment he smirked, patting his cheek gently. 

"Good boy." He said, turning to look over at Sam and his own brother. "TJ, tie up his legs and arms properly and then hang him up to this hook over here." Artiee ordered, pointing to another hook hanging from the ceiling, lower, closer to Dean and Max. "Make sure he has a good view, can see everything big brother Dean here goes through for him. I want him to see every, single little thing I make him sacrifice for his brother." 

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Artie grabbed his jaw with four fingers hooked into his mouth, dragging his head forward harshly and tilting his head back roughly. Dark eyes glared into Dean's desperate green ones. "You." He shook Dean's head harshly, pressing nails into the boy's tongue beneath his fingers. "Asked for this. Nothing will happen to him as long as you take what I give you. Do everything I say and not a single hair will be harmed on his head. Understood?" 

Dean's eyes watered but didn't leak. He nodded shakily with the man's fingers still gripping his teeth and aching jaw. Satisfied, Artie let got of the boy and turned to walk over to John again, checking on him as TJ did as he'd been told, stringing the naked boy up to mirror his father's position, but instead just barely four feet from where Dean knelt still trapped in Max's arms. 

"Papa bear, papa bear…" He sighed, slapping John hard a few times for the fun of it. "I need you awake and aware. I want you to see what your failure has caused. I want you to see how helpless your sons are despite all your…" He glanced over John's features, assessing. "..military training." He snickered, grabbing the edge of John's tshirt and rucked it up, shoving it up around his neck and into his mouth as a gag.

"Artie, can I play with him now? Please, brother?" Max asked with a childlike tone and eagerness, impatient but waiting for permission. "I want to taste him, brother, his blood was so sweet." He licked his lips and stared longingly at Dean's blood stained neck in front of him. 

Artie turned back to his brother on the floor, looking Dean over from afar, seeing the stiff jaw, the green gaze focused on Artie's feet , mind working and working, trying to think of a way out of this, trying to prepare himself for the worse, trying to stay strong. He liked this green eyed boy his brothers had caught. He had spirit, loyalty, majesty. He licked his own lips hungrily. 

"Princess Dean." He said, catching the boys attention with the demeaning nickname. "You look like you belong on a throne, so let's give you one." He walked back over to the flush faced boy, seeing the humiliation in his eyes at the name. "Such a pretty princess shouldn't wear such dirty clothes." 

To Dean's horror, Artie walked over, picking up John's discarded knife on the way, and used it to tear the front of his shirt open in one rip, exposing his already bruised chest. One side of his ribs looked bruised already, a dark ugly purple spot looking swollen, his sternum and shoulders mottled with red and blue bruises too. Artie used the knife to slice the sleeves off the shirt as well, pulling the fabric off the boy's chest without unbinding his arms. "Princesses ought to be showered in affection and love, don't you think, Maxie?" He asked the brother still holding Dean's now shivering frame. "Let's make our little princess feel good." 

Artie grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and dragged him forward to force his tongue into his mouth again, licking into him and groaning at the taste of the youth's sweet mouth. Like apple pie and whisky. Max's big arms spread around Dean, gloved fingers scratching down the delicately flat muscled chest, catching over his nipples and making Dean jerk helplessly against his bindings, eyes screwed shut and mouth unresponsive as he was violated. He just had to remind himself to breath through it, that it would be over soon, hopefully. Max's big hands dug into his sides as the man's face curled over his shoulder, lips settling on sore skin and sucking at the punctures he'd made earlier, licking into the little holes there to draw out more coppery blood.

Artie pulled back from Dean's mouth after a devouring moment with a wet, obscene pop, gripping Dean's spit slick chin as he admired his handy work. "Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean." He sighed against swollen lips, memorizing the puffy look of those full, red lips. "You were made for this, weren't you? Such pretty little pouty lips." He chuckled, ignoring the other prisoners in the room, knowing TJ was watching them, gun at the ready. TJ always had been the most patient of the three, always willing to wait and be the last to play. He preferred to be the final player on the board. 

"Artie, I want to be his throne." Max whispered over the trembling shoulder in his arms, brown eyes pleading brown for the honor of laying into the captive first. "He fits so perfectly in my arms, can I play first, please?" Dean felt oily thick dread curl in his veins at the childlike demeanor of the bastard behind him. They were sick, twisted, all of them. 

Artie snapped his eyes over to Max, expression almost angry looking before sparking with mischievous delight. "Oh, Maxie." He slid his hands down Dean's now red scratched chest, watching the way the boy tried to stay silent, tried to bit his tongue against the storm in his mind that reflected in his eyes. "After finding me such a sweet, sweet treat? Of course." He slotted his fingers against Dean's hips, sliding them slowly down jean clad thighs and curling them into the tuck of his knees. 

He removed one hand to pick up the knife again, pressing its flat side against Dean's tense, freckled cheek before slowly gliding it down his chest, watching the way his breath caught when the sharp edge caught on his nipple, paused to dig slightly into the swollen welt of a probably broken rib, and then down to press against Dean's length through his jeans. He smirked at the little shuddering whine that Dean tried to bite back. 

"Oh, Princess Dean, you're being such a good little girl." He smiled at the shame flushed color on the boys cheeks. "Blushing all pretty for your brother and your new friends. Such a pretty little princess, all thin and lean. Big pouty lips, long dark eyelashes..." He moved the knife to slide into Dean's jeans down the side of his hip and ripping the fabric roughly along the seam as he admired the teen before him. Dean jerked back instinctively, biting back a panicked whine as his jeans were cut from his legs. 

"Such a cute little voice…" Artie praised as Max pressed in closer to Dean, grinding up against his backside and panting against his neck. 

"Artie, he's so pretty." Max groaned, pressing his hands flat to Dean's belly and pressing him back further in to his chest. "His ass is so perky, it's just made to sit on my throne." He laughed, playing along with his brother's sick game. "Such a pretty princess, all smooth and toned and tight." 

Artie finished cutting the fabric from Dean's with a cry of triumph, ripping the tattered fabric from his form and leaving him exposed completely, save for the bronze necklace against his chest. Artie looked at it and went to rip it from him when Dean let out a pathetic whimper, shaking his head furiously. 

"No! No...please, leave it...please…" He begged, squirming against the binds on his wrist, face heated with the shame of being exposed to these pedophiles. "Please, it's special." 

Artie looked up into big, teary green eyes, spotting movement from the other young captive in the room. Seeing the burning rage in Sam's eyes, the desperate attempts to get free, the growl behind the gag. He raised a brow, wrapping his hand around the bronze figure, seeing the flash of horror on Sam's face at the threat of taking away the pendant. 

"Ah, did Prince Scottie give this to you?" He asked, pressing the bronze figure into Dean's chest so the sharp edges dug in uncomfortably. He got a weak, pathetic nod from his green eyed captive and chuckled warmly. "Oh, well in that case we don't want to ruin that. After all, a princess does need a little decoration." 

He pressed the figure harder into Dean's skin, rocking it back and forth a little and digging out a spot in Dean's chest with it, watching the twitch and tick of Dean's expression as his precious necklace carved in to him. "You're a good brother, Dean. Doing this for him, protecting his precious gifts. You can keep this. Good reminder of who you're doing this for…" He dug the bronze head deeper until a red pool was dripping down the center of Dean's chest, and the figure stuck into the ripped flesh. "Let's keep that right in there then." 

Dean nodded, sucking in a desperate breath, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from saying anything else, from crying like a baby, from making this all worse. He had to endure this for Sammy's sake. If he could just hold himself together, try to block it out he'd be okay. He had to be, this nightmare would end eventually, right? He had to stay strong. No one was coming to save him.

"Scottie." He dared to whisper out his brother's fake name. "T-try not to watch. Please." He begged, knowing what was coming next. He didn't know if Sam understood yet, if he'd figured out what they planned to do to him. Sam was still young, still innocent, and Dean wasn't sure if the younger man fully realized what these monsters planned. He hoped not, hoped he could close his eyes, block at least the images out, not see what was about to be done to him. 

Artie tsked at him, slapping him hard, shaking his head at Dean. "We'll not have any of that, Princess. You're prince needs to know just how much his princess loves him, right? Has to see him seated on the throne she's earned." He gave TJ a look to keep his eye on Sam, to make sure he watched. Pleased his brother already understood his role, he nodded to Max, who pushed Dean forward suddenly, into Artie's waiting chest. The ringleader's hands grabbed Dean's hips and held him up straighter on his knees as Max undid his pants, pulled his cock out of the folds of fabric and slid back up against Dean's exposed backside, rubbing his heavy, full cock into the crease of Dean's ass. 

Horror washed through Dean at the feel of it, the size of it. Oh god, this was really about to happen. 

"Oh, Artie, he's so pretty back here. Such a pretty princess. He looks so tight." Max rubbed his leaking crown against Dean's entrance, smiling as he pressed but didn't enter, sliding back and up the crease again in a teasing rock that brushed the top of his wet dick against Dean's bound hands at the small of his back. "Can I , please?" He asked, looking to Artie again where he was gripping Dean firmly from in front. Artie's hands slid around from Dean's hips to his backside, brushing across his bound wrists and twitching fingers and to the meat of his ass. His fingers dug in and pulled the muscle apart for Max, letting him rub and press with a better view of the clenching opening.

"So small and pink." Max laughed, delighted.

Dean let out a little whine, breath hitched in his throat as he bit back panic and desperation, shaking visibly between the two human monsters. He swallowed down the urge to bawl, to beg for them to stop. His eyes suddenly locked on John's across the room where he hung uselessly, tears streaming down his own face into the fabric of his shirt. Dean sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, trying to stay strong. For Sammy. For Dad. Even John couldn't stop these monsters, so Dean would just have to take whatever they dished out. They could try, but Dean refused to break. He wouldn't make a sound for them, not if he could help it. Sam would try to look away, keep his eyes closed like Dean asked, and if he stayed quiet then Sam wouldn't hear anything more than just bodies moving. He wouldn't hear pain, wouldn't hear his brother's weakness. 

Oh god, he wanted to just shrivel up and die. 

Artie pulled his cheeks apart again, kneading his fingers in to taut muscles. He licked his lips, breathing in the smell of Dean's fear and his fight to stay in control, trying to school his expression as he shut his eyes against the world. Pointless really. "Make him scream." He instructed with a nod to Max. 

With no more warning, the bear of a man shoved the blunt head of his cock into Dean, only his slick prerelease adding any lubrication. Dean eyes jolted open as he felt himself tear, agony ripping up his spine and making his body desperate to fight back, to flee. He couldn't stop the knee jerk reaction to pull away, to try to claw his way free. He bit hard into the shoulder of the man in front of him without thinking, blinded by the brutal intensity of raw penetration, fighting off the scream that wanted to roar out of him. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Bright hot pain rippled through his thighs, his ass, his lower back, crawling up his spine and into his abused shoulders and numb, tied arms. He felt like liquid fire had been poured through his veins. He didn't realize there could ever be this much pain at one time.

In a blur he found himself being pulled back by the hair harshly, a punch across the jaw dazing him before a wet tongue was pushing into his mouth, teeth nipping and biting at him, trying to force more noises from his throat. Claw tipped gloves grabbed onto his hips for leverage as Artie's two large hands returned to spread his ass cheeks open for Max to rut into him with reckless abandon, grunting obscenely as he tore into Dean's body with enthusiasm. Teeth bit into his neck and sucked blood from wounds already there, again, digging sharp points into tender tendons. Max moaned his pleasure into Dean's back as he thrust and thrust and thrust, forcing himself into Dean's virgin body a little bit more with each roll of his hips in and out. 

"Oh! Artie...he's so tight! So hot! Just perfect on my throne, taking me so-" He thrust up hard, rocking Dean forward unsteadily. "deep-" Another short, but sharp thrust open Dean's torn hole more. "So hot." He moaned as he settled into Dean balls deep. "Took me so nice." He stopped moving almost as suddenly as he'd entered, just kneeling behind Dean, buried to the hilt, balls pressed against his ass tender ass. "Such a pretty princess." He mocked, sucking on Dean's ear lobe. 

Artie pushed Dean back firmly, slotting him back onto Max's lap and across his chest, so he was sitting fully across his lap. He admired the agonized look on Dean's face with sick satisfaction. Dean's eyes were screwed shut with wet drops clinging to his long eyelashes, jaw set tight as he refused to make a noise, refused to let Artie back in to his mouth with his vile tongue. Artie couldn't help but laugh at the pretty picture he made. 

"Stay right there, Princess." He purred once Dean was leaning solely on Max, body trembling as he tried to stay up on his knees some to stop from sinking any further down into the source of his pain. "Let me look at you." He ran a hand down Dean's pale, sweaty cheek, down his battered neck , scratching over his chest and across tender nipples and settling on his belly, pressing down suddenly hard into the softer flesh there. 

Dean's eyes jolted open at the new pain, air being sucked in greedily through his teeth as he looked to see what Artie was doing to him, panic stricken eyes desperate for escape as Artie kneaded Dean's belly down until he could feel the bulge of Max's cock pressing into his body. Nausea settled back into his throat, a harsh acidic burn threatening to crawl up his throat from the bruising press into an already abused area. 

"Can you feel that, Dean? His big fat cock filling you up so deep, so fucking deep I can feel it through your stomach? Can you feel that? Feel my hands rubbing his cock through your little belly?" Artie spoke in a poison voice, destroying any hope Dean had for this to be a private humiliation, narrating the horrible truth for their audience to hear. "He's balls deep in you, Princess. You took his cock like such a good little slut, didn't you, baby boy? Just opened right up for him without a sound." 

Artie slid his hands down and around, pushing Dean's trembling knees out further, forcing him to sink a little more on Max as his thighs spread wider trying to steady his precariously balanced body again. A sharp desperate whine choked out of Dean as he was forced to spread himself open on Max's lap, Arties fingers sliding down his limp cock, across his balls, and to the torn flesh stretched around Max. 

"So wet for him, so wet and hot." He smeared Dean's blood into his fingers and around his stretched out hole before moving them to fondle Dean's balls roughly, making him cringe at the sticky press and pinch. "That's right, baby boy, so hot and wet for us. Like a good little slut. Just taking it all without complaint." He smirked cruelly up to Dean, leaning back on his haunches, having a full view of Dean's body on his brother's cock. 

"Fuck him hard, Max." He commanded.

As ordered, Max used his grip on Dean's hips to lift him and drop him down hard. Each thrust up dug claws deeper into bruised hips and made Dean's hips slide open further, unable to stay steady on the floor. Max set a brutal pace as he panted into the teens neck, the wet slap of flesh on flesh echoing loudly in the room. "Oh, Artie, he's so hot. So hot, Dean. Just taking my big fat cock, bet you love being stuffed full like this. Your ass was made for this, made to be a hole for me to fuck, to gape, to claim." He bounded Dean's smaller body like a ragdoll on his lap. "I knew you were made for this the minute I saw you, walking around like you owned the place, all swagger and confidence. Bet your ass was just waiting to be opened up, to be ripped and ravaged. So tight, god, so fucking tight you little slut, just taking it like you were made for this, baby boy. Not even fighting it, you fucking slut. Desperate for it, aren't you. I know I am. Gonna burn myself into you, fuck you til you can't walk for weeks. You're just my tight little fuck toy, aren't you? Just take it, you whore." He punctuated his thrusts with an occasional slap to Dean's pouncing ass, scratching red lines into the taut flesh. "Gonna make you gape, gonna fuck you so deep , baby boy, gonna open you up and fuck you full of my seed. Wanna breed you like a slut. Want to see you full of my cum, full of my babies. You fucking slut, bet you want this. Want to be fucked hard, don't you baby boy? Want me to shove my fist up there next? Want to feel my hand up that tight little ass?" He grunted like a pig, spewing filth into Dean's ear without filter. "Make your pretty little tummy big and swollen with my fist and my cum. Wanna breed you like a bitch, fill you up, make you fat with my seed, swollen and bloated. Want to shove my cum so deep inside you you'll never get it out. Never be clean. My pretty little slut." 

Hot, wet tears rolled down Dean's cheeks, sobs caught in his throat as he tried to block out the words, the numbing pain. He phased in and out of awareness as the pain became too much, head dizzy from blood loss and energy loss. He tried to put up a wall, tried to block it out, tried to ignore the burn in his arms as Max grabbed those instead, now, using them to yank him down onto his dick with each thrust up. His vision blurred and he tried to remind himself not to make a noise, not to break, not to let it get to him. These words were lies, all of them. He wasn't a slut, he didn't want this, he wasn't wet for them. No. He wasn't theirs. He was Sammy's and Dad's. He had to stay strong. He could make it through this, shove it down later, and pretend it didn't happen. He could just keep on living his normal life with his dad and brother like none of this ever happened. He kept repeating nonsense reassurances to himself as he tried to ignore the wet, sharp slaps, the panting moans, the filthy words. He listened for his brother, for his father, for any sign of help, praying this would be over soon, praying it would just stop.

He was drawn out of his head when he was suddenly being thrown forward onto his chest on the floor, his shoulders impacting with concrete loudly. Sammy's amulet dug into his chest with a sharp intensity, radiating down his stomach and making him gag on bile before swallowing it down desperately so he wouldn't puke on himself, all reassurances in his mind forgotten.

Max forced him over, holding his hips up only , keeping his legs spread out in a sharp burn as he fucked into him with a handful of more wild thrusts, uneven, desperate and sloppy. Moaning loudly, Max spilled hot, sticky seeds inside him. Dean's stomach instantly rolled in disgust again, and he had to swallow down more bile as his body twitched, muscles burning all over from the painful position, the beating from before, and now...this. He could feel the burn of acid in his nose.

Desperate to hide his shame, Dean buried his face into the rough, dirty floor, fighting back the helpless gasps and sobs that were lodged in his throat, trying so desperately to escape. He couldn't stop a small, broken cry of pain from escaping when the man behind him pulled out roughly, slapping Dean's gaping entrance with his blood and cum covered cock, the head catching on the torn pucker of his hole and making everything burn more. Stripping off one glove, Max hooked three fingers into him and twisted, pushing his cum back inside Dean's weeping hole. 

"Gotta keep it in there, pretty boy. Keep my seed in there. Gotta fill you up, bloat you with our seeds, breed your little slutty hole." Max said as he twisted a fourth finger into Dean's abused body, tucking in his thumb next and pushing his hand in. "Just like that, you fucking slut. Taking my hand like you wore born to fucked open. So pretty all covered in blood. Gonna fist you full of my seeds." He curled his hand inside Dean, closing his fingers into a proper fist and scratching his inner walls with blunt nails. Dean's whole body spasmed and twitched helplessly on the floor, body trying to save him from the burn, from more pain. Max shoved his fist deep, pressing his seeds in deeper and pressing into Dean's body. His stomach twitched and he audibly gagged a little at the feel of someone's hand pressing into his organs, forcing him open. 

Biting back a sob, Dean desperately prayed for it to stop, prayed for the strength to make it through this. He hardly got a second to recover from Max's fist, from the relief of being empty, before he felt something...no, someone, else sliding into him. He recognized the touch of Artie's hands as they pressed into his shoulder blades, digging into his bones and shooting more pain through his back. Artie slide his cock in to fill the space his brother had just left, forcing the abused channel back open on another thick length. Dean's hole twitched against the burn, clenching and fluttering as it tried to adjust from the fist there a moment ago. This was almost a welcome relief, and Dean felt tears pool beneath his cheek on the floor as he was rocked into. 

"Like a glove, princess." Artie breathed out on a sigh, sinking in slower than Max had, cum and blood easing his way. "So tight still, after being fucked open so pretty. Shoulda seen the way his cock looked sliding into you, spreading you open. You just suck us right on in, don't you, so tight and pretty even after a fist." He palmed his hands down Dean's bound arms as he thrust into him slowly, taking his time as Dean sobbed silently into the floor, unable to stop the tears now. It was too much, too intense, too brutal and too gentle. He couldn't take it anymore, he wanted out, he wanted it to stop. "So good for us, princess, taking my cock so eagerly, being such a good fuck toy in your brother's place." 

Sammy. He was doing this for Sammy, so he wouldn't be hurt.

"Taking us like a good little bitch, just sucking me right on it. So warm and tight, Dean. Such a good little slut for us, such a good little princess taking your throne. " His hands ran up and down Dean's arms, alternating between caressing, squeezing, and pressing down hard so his chest rubbed into the floor with each slow, deliberate thrust. "So pretty for me, baby boy. Bet you could take two of us at once, couldn't you? Bet you'd just open right on up for us, suck in or big thick dicks, milk them dry, squeeze them like a vice." Artie groaned as Dean's body spasmed and twitched. "Oh yeah, just like that." He slapped Dean's ass hard, with a echoing smack, fucking into Dean a little faster. "You just love being fucked open, don't you, baby boy? Not even saying a word. So good for me, so good for your brother aren't you, just taking my cock for him." 

Oh god, Dean bit back a sob at the mention of Sam, trying to banish the mental image of Sam in his place. What if they went back on their word? What if they broke him and left him and turned to Sam next because Dean wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough? What if Artie had just lied to him and was taking Dean first so he was weak and broken and then turned to Sammy next? No, no, no! He had to get a grip. Had to stay awake, stay focused, keep his strength up. If he passed out they could easily just dump him, ignore him, turn to Sammy instead. "Don't y-you-" He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath. "t-touchhim,youpromised."He grit out raggedly. His voice didn't even sound like his own any more.

Artie laughed horribly into his ear, leaning over him and biting at his ear lobe, sucking on it and then licking down the edge of his jaw, across the side of his lips. "Such a good boy, Dean, such a good princess. Stay awake pretty boy and I won't touch your precious Scottie. Doing such a good job taking my dick for him. Bet you imaged it, him in your place. This is so much better, isn't it? Me filling you up instead, fucking your tight little ass. Fucking your little princess cunt." 

 

With a sobbing desperation, Dean breathed in deep and tried to block out Artie's awful words, tried to compose himself. He just had to stay awake, stay awake and keep Sammy safe. He could do this, he just had to find his head space, try to find anything in his mind that would block this torture. Anything to keep Sammy safe. He imagined Sam growing up, of John teaching them how to fight, how to train, how to laugh and joke. He thought of that awful day when his mother died and he carried his brother to safety. He thought of his baby brother's first steps, first words, the first time he said Dean's name. Sam's first day of school, his first report card, the first day in every knew home. He thought of the fourth of July, of army men in the Impala, of teaching Sammy to shoot his first gun not even a few months ago. 

"Think I might keep you, Dean. Such a good little slut for me, taking everything I give you. Could keep you tied up and gagged at my feet everyday, just fuck you whenever I wanted. Let my brothers ride you and breed you full of their seeds, baby boy. Want to see this tight little cunt just dripping with our cum, want to see it dripping down your pretty little legs. Such a good little slut." He groaned, rocking in to Dean as he held on to his shoulders, pulling him back into each thrust. "Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you slut? You'd just take it, let us take what we want as long as your baby brother stays safe."

He cackled into Dean's ear, pressing an arm across the back of Dean's neck and making it harder to breath. "Take my fucking cock, baby boy. My big, fat cock. God, baby boy." He moaned loudly into Dean's ear. "So tight for me, so wet and warm. Feel so good with my brothers cum in you, gonna fill you up so deep, gonna flood you with cum. You want my seeds, Dean? Want my baby makers in your hot little cunt? Bloated and full of my thick cum?" A hand wrapped around Dean's middle, fingers digging into his belly hard as Artie fucked into him, groaning at the feel of Dean's stomach bulging with his cock head. "Fuck, Dean, you're so tight." He pressed his big hand across the expanse of Dean's stomach, curling into the edges of his ribs. "Fuck, so tight and tiny. Such a good little slut for me. That's right, you take it like you mean it. Suck me in deeper. Want to feel you digest my dick. Gonna have my babies inside you for months." He jack hammered hard into Dean, all prior gentleness gone. "Gonna flood you and fuck you til your oozing with cum. Then I'm gonna let me brothers breed you full again, and again. Never gonna let you go, baby boy. You're mine now. Mine." 

Dean felt a wetness fill him suddenly, sticky and hot and nauseating. Swallowing down bile once more, Dean barely even realized the everything had stopped until a heavy weight was suddenly falling on top of him, all of Artie's mass crushing down on him, hot wet, heat spreading over the burning muscles of his arms and shoulders. It felt wrong, off, and his ears were ringing. Dean shouldn't feel hot wet heat there, not when Artie had just cumed inside...not when he was still buried to the base in his ass. He was so heavy. It was hard to breath, and he was already light headed, dizzy. Confusion washed through him as he tried blinking his eyes open, red filling his vision, blood pooling in front of his face. He shut his eyes again, everything spinning as the noises of a gun echoed and registered in his mind at last. Two gun shots, in quick succession, another unheard shots result laying across his back. Suddenly it was quiet, so quiet, nothing but his own labored breath making sense to him. The weight on him and in him was so heavy, unmoving, and silent. Wrong. 

"Dean!" 

He was vaguely aware of his name being shouted, being repeated as unconsciousness started pulling at him. There was no new pain, no brutal movements rocking him and keeping him conscious, no taunting voice threatening Sammy. He latched on to the darkness and let it pull him under, pull him away from the sudden noises, the awful wet heat, the heavy, dead weight and the burn, oh the awful, awful burn in his ass, in his muscles, in his heart. He realized with almost hysterical delight that his body was shutting down. It was welcome, so welcome. It meant he didn't have to think, to act, to hold back the tears anymore. He would be in peace. Sweet, blessed peace. Pain free. Silent. No more awful words in his ears. 

The sound of his baby brother's desperate, croaking voice begging for him to open his eyes was the last thing he heard before sinking away into the void of his own mind. Everything disappeared with the final thought of Sammy echoing in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Winchester, may I speak with you in the my office?" Dr. Matthis looked grim, dark eyes weary as he stood with a clipboard at his side, and a folder tucked under his armpit. Sam's head snapped up, hazel eyes tracking his father's movements as he stood. Seconds later Sam was on his feet too, pushing his father out of the way and standing in front of the Doctor.

"How is he?" He demanded, eyes hard as he stared up at the late shift doctor. They'd been in the hospital for nearing ten hours now. When they'd been admitted earlier Sam and John had been separated from Dean so the doctors could work. After hours of not seeing his brother, of now knowing his condition, Sam was going crazy. He'd already had his own wounds checked, a brace on his wrist which had been fractured, and bandages around sore ribs. He'd been given pain medicine to deal with all the bruising, but there hadn't been much for the doctors to do for him besides clean the scratches on his face and send him to the waiting room. 

The older man blinked down at Sam and turned his gaze to John questioningly. "You must be Dean's brother. That's why I wanted to talk to your father. In private." A beat passed. "Alone." 

Sam snarled, hands fisted at his sides. "You think just cause I'm some kid I won't understand some damn medical terms and bullshit explanations? I was there, I saw what they did to him. What happened to him in MY place." The doctor flinched, paling just slightly. "Whatever that damn clipboard says, I want to know." 

Dr. Matthis cleared his throat, nodding slowly. "Very well...if you'll both follow me, then…" He lead them down a hall to a private office, indicating for them to sit before taking the seat across the desk from them both. "I wanted to talk to you.." His eyes darted from John to Sam who was still glaring at him before moving back to the older male. "About not just the physical damage that was done to your son, but also about the psychological damage that may become apparent once Dean wakes up." 

John nodded stiffly, expression blank and dull as he indicated the doctor to go on. 

Sighing, the doctor opened up the file he'd had with him before, flipping a few papers before licking his lips. "Why don't I just start with the physical damage and what can be expected of the healing process." He said, tone stiff. There was no easy way to talk about rape injuries to family members, let alone to ones who had witnessed it, and let alone to the two dangerous Winchester men across from him. "Dean suffered from some pretty severe internal anal bleeding. He has several deep anal fissures around his…" The doctor cleared his throat, eyes on his papers. "Around his entrance. He also maintained a fractured kneecap, and dislocated shoulder. His wrists are severely bruised and strained, but luckily neither are broken. He lost a lot of blood before he got here, but we manage to get him a transfusion and stabilized fairly quickly. He sustained a minor concussion that we'll need to monitor carefully when he first wakes up, and a fractured collar bone, as well as three fractured ribs." He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes first without meaning to. The depth of despair and hatred radiating from those young eyes was nerve wracking and made Dr. Matthis sit back further in his chair unconsciously. "His other injuries were less severe, but will probably still make themselves known through the first few weeks of healing. He has some internal and external bruising along his midsection and along his hips, and several lacerations across his face. His throat was damages as well due to the-" He hesitated for half a second before clearing his throat. He felt the intensity of Sam's eyes burning into him like a laser through wood. "-strangulation. The puncture wounds on his neck should heal up quickly, as well as the cut above his eyebrow." 

Dr. Matthis closed the folder with a sigh, meeting silence as he looked up and focused on John instead of Sam. "Most of the injuries will be healed up within a couple of weeks. The bruising will disappear, the smaller lacerations will close up. His broken and fractured bones will take about one-two months to heal up. He'll need to not use his hands for a while to make sure his wrists don't sustain further injury, and he should avoid putting any weight on his shoulders and chest for a few weeks. He'll need to be careful with that fractured kneecap, as well, and will need to be careful long term with not sustaining another knee injury. The biggest change will be in his diet. Due to the nature of his main injuries, he'll need and want to stick to a liquid diet until the anal lacerations and tearing can heal fully. This will be easier on his throat, as well, as he recovers his strength. As soon as he's able, I suggest having him start physical therapy. He's a healthy kid, with a lot of muscle on him, but the diet change and the time he'll be spending in bed recovering will quickly become an issue if he's not careful." 

He leaned back again, closing his eyes with a sigh and pinching at the bridge of his nose. John has yet to even seem to mentally understand him, where as he was too aware of Sam's comprehension of the process he'd laid out. "The thing that will probably be the hardest, and biggest issue for Dean himself, throughout this, will more than likely be the medication we prescribe to help with the tearing of the anal passage. The cream will need to be smoothed into the area twice a day. That means inner and outer damaged areas. For obvious reasons this will be an awkward and painful process. What we normally do, for injuries of this nature, is suggest sedating the patient and applying the cream when he won't be aware of it's administration. "

"How long will that take?" Sam asked in a tight voice, hands fisted on top of his knees. "The healing process for that, I mean. How long?" 

Dr. Matthis sighed, looking to Sam reluctantly. "It's hard to say. The human body will try to heal genital and oral areas the fastest. Due to the severity of the tears and lacerations, it's hard to say, though. Definitely no less than two weeks, at the least. It will all depend on how Dean's body responds with it's other injuries as well." 

Sam nodded curtly, grinding his teeth together hard. "Okay." He said, glancing at John once with a tick in his jaw before focusing back on the doctor. "I want everything you said on paper, all medication instructions written out clearly. Physical therapist numbers and hours, etc. I only want female nurses and attendants to come near him. I don't even want a male janitor to come anywhere near his room. He needs to be comfortable, have his own room, and as soon as we can I want a therapist visiting him. He's stubborn and headstrong, and I know he'll fight them tooth and nail even injured, but I will not let him push this down." He snarled, eyes on fire again. "I want to make sure only myself and Robert Singer are allowed to go into his room. He-" Sam pointed a finger harshly at his father without looking. "Is not allowed near him. At all. If I see him within fifteen feet of my brother I will scream bloody murder." 

"Sam! This man is Dean's father, blood relations ar-" Dr. Matthis started to protest, only to gulp down his words with horror at the vicious look on Sam's face as he stood up and leaned over the table. 

"John Winchester may be our father, but he failed us when we needed him most." Sam hissed in a low, cold tone. "The minute he failed to save Dean was the minute I cut him out of my life." His eyes were like daggers. "He failed us and he knows it, and I won't give him even on ounce of sympathy. He made us one permanent promise in life, ONE!" Sam's palm slapped hard against the table. "And he broke it. Just like every other promise he told us growing up." John turned his head away, hanging it in shame as he sat in silence still. "He failed us the one time we truly needed him, and I can not forgive him for the damage done. I don't care that he tried, I don't care that he was outnumbered. I know the kind of things he is capable of. I know EXACTLY what he was feeling in that bloody room. He has no excuses. None." Sam's eyes finally took on a wet sheen as he seethed in front of the traumatized doctor. "After everything he has made us go through growing up, after all the shit and the lies and the disruptions, I can't forgive and forget any longer. He let the one thing keeping me sane, keeping me together, get tortured and brutalized and RAPED in front of me." Hot tears rolled down Sam's cheeks as he stood their staring at the Doctor, refusing to acknowledge his own father behind him. "That man is not my father. And he is not Dean's father. He's a failure and a fraud and a liar, and I don't want him any where near my brother. Do you understand me?" 

Dr. Matthis nodded shakily, completely at a loss as to handle what had just occurred. Watching Sam was like watching a storm coming right at you, thundering and shocking. "I understand…" He said in a small voice, feeling like he was the child in the room, not the twelve year old across from him.

"Good." Sam growled, wiping at his cheeks angrily. "I want to see my brother." 

"O-of course…" Dr. Matthis stood up, shaky feeling. "He may not wake up for a while yet, but I can let you in to see him now that he's stabilized." He walked to the office door, glancing at John once, not even capable of understanding the magnitude of his emotional traumas when faced with his sons so damaged. He quickly looked away, closing the door on the exhausted father, letting him have his time to grieve and adjust. "Just...follow me." He said, leading Sam down the hall.

Opening the door to Dean's room, Dr. Matthis felt a change wash over Sam upon seeing his brother on the stark white hospital bed. His breath caught, and tears jumped to his eyes as he shuffled over to the edge of the bed, shakily reaching out a hand to cup his brother's wrapped hands with his own damaged hand. 

"D-De…" Sam sniffled, sounding like the twelve year old he was, looking like the child he was at last. Dr. Matthis had to take a step back and away in order to cope with the complete change he felt in the boy's demeanor, and shudder at the memory of murder in those eyes. 

Sam only let go of Dean's hand to drag the chair in the corner over to the edge of the bed, sitting on it and curling up as close as he could to his damaged brother, gently holding his hand like it was his only life line. 

"You're gonna be okay, De, I promise." Sam whispered, pressing a kiss to Dean's hand lightly. "Gonna take care of you now, big brother. You're gonna be okay." His voice wavered and broke as he buried his head into the sheets besides Dean's hands, little sobs silently racking his frame. "I promise..."


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting by the window to his room, Dean stared out at the walkway below, watching the people coming and going with a mixture of tension and anticipation. It'd been three weeks, now, and it was still hard to come to terms with what had happened. He would feel fine one moment, and then suddenly he'd be back in that storehouse, feeling those men on him all over again. He cringed, eyes spotting a man leaving the hospital, all dark hair and big shoulders. He shut his eyes and swallowed past a sudden lump of anxiety, forcing his eyes back open to stare out the window again. He was waiting.

It was almost fifteen more minutes before his eyes caught on the two figures heading up to the entrance of the hospital. Sam looked eager, ready to see Dean again after a long day, with Bobby at his side. When Dean had first come to it had been an ugly couple of days. Dean hadn't wanted anyone near him, didn't want to be touched, to be looked at. By the end of the second night, he'd gotten so overwhelmingly lost feeling and finally let Sam come in. The moment he had his little brother nestled by his side on the awful, tiny hospital bed, crying into his shoulder and whispering apologies he didn't owe, Dean hadn't been able to handle not seeing Sam whenever he could. It had been his own idea to make Sam go back to school, knowing it would keep the kid's mind off of things, keep him busy, stop him from going stir crazy. Plus he knew how much Sam loved school, liked actually learning. He'd demanded that Sam go back, but made sure he was watched closely, Bobby taking the youngest Winchester under his wing as John stayed hidden away. Dean was immensely glad for that, not sure he could face his real father after everything. He'd caught wind of Sam arguing with Bobby about it, though, and knew it was because Sam refused their father the right to see him.

It had been a long, brutal past three weeks, but a lot of his physical damage was healed. Most thankfully, he no longer had to worry about that stupid, awful, humiliating sedation and medication treatment anymore. He did, however, have to start some serious physical therapy soon. But that's what today was about.

"Dean!" Sam cried out as he opened the room door, spotting his brother in a wheelchair by the window. He ran over and wrapped his arms around his brother's neck lightly, hugging him close as he half knelt in the wheelchair over Dean's lap.

"Heya, Sammy." Dean said in a soft, tired voice. He hadn't had much energy the past few weeks from the medications, and laying around all the time. He was going stir crazy himself, and wanted out. "How was school?" He asked, running his fingers through his brother's hair lightly since he didn't really have the strength for much else. His shoulder still ached, and his wrists were still in braces, so he had a frustratingly limited mobility.

"The same as always." Sam huffed out, clearly impatient and exasperated. "Not that that matters." He smiled at Dean with a big happy grin, excitement infectious. "Are you ready to go? We can talk in the car, I just want you out of this awful place."

Dean smiled back, leaning his head on Sam's shoulder a moment before nodding. "More than ready." He sighed, pushing Sam back with a teasing smirk. "Back off, pipsqueak." He teased, finally looking over to the door and offering a tentative wave to Bobby. "He hasn't been too much to handle, I hope."

Bobby laughed softly, shaking his head at Dean. "Don't you worry bout that, son. I can take care of him. I'm not as old as you think I am."

Dean let out a breathless laugh, settled in his bones to see the older male. He'd been a bit unsettled the first week whenever the older man came around, but Bobby had known not to push it, and had always kept his distance until Dean was ready. Dean had learned after the fact that it was thanks to Bobby that he'd not been passed around to the next brother in the trio. The thought haunted him, to think what would have happened if his surrogate father hadn't been there to stop them. He blinked heavily suddenly at the thought, eyes unfocusing for a moment as he sort of swayed. It went silent and Sam's face dropped, his small form taking a subtle step back, giving Dean his space. He'd picked up quickly on the way Dean's expressions would shift just slightly when a thought came to him, knowing Dean might take a moment, might need a second, or a minute even, on some occassions he'd had to leave the room completely and stay away for an hour or more. He held his breath as he waited, letting out a little relieved sigh when Dean's face cleared again. He smiled shyly at Dean again, as he came back to the present. Dean tried not to think about the sensation of blood spilling down his back, pooling around his body, mingling with his own on the ground.

"So…" Dean cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, realizing they'd been waiting on his moment to pass with as much trepidation as he had. "Ready to bust me out of here?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "I'll go grab the nurse." He said, rushing off to go grab the nurse that had been helping them for the past few weeks. Bobby shuffled aside to let him pass, and then inside a little more, settling into one of the chairs near the window across from Dean in his wheelchair.

"How you holding up, kid?" He asked softly, catching that haunted look in Dean's eyes still.

Green eyes clouded and then tucked down to Dean's hands in his lap. He gave a weak little shrugged. "Not really sure…" He murmured. "It's...a lot to handle." His voice was soft, almost hard to hear. "I just...I don't want this to change things. Not with Sammy...but it's...it's hard. Really hard…" He twisted his fingers together, playing with the edges of one of his wrist braces. "I just…" He glanced to the door uncertainly, seeing Sam leading the nurse their way from down the hall. "I still want to be his big brother. Want to be able to protect him. And I feel like I've failed…"

Bobby frowned deeply, brows crinkling together as he carefully leaned forward, setting a hand gently on top of Dean's restless fingers. "Dean. You didn't fail." He offered a reassuring pat to the teen's hand. "You went through more than you ever should have had to, and you kept Sam safe. I wish you'd never had to in the first place, but trust me when I say you did not fail. Sam doesn't think you failed either." He sat back, and stood up with an old fluidity, turning to the nurse as they came inside the room, paperwork in hand.

"Mr. Singer. Dean." She smiled in greeting, coming forward. "I see you're looking to check out today. I just need to do a quick check up, and need you to fill out a few of these forms, and then you guys can be on your way. I made a copy of the numbers for the Sioux Fall area numbers you'll need once you get out that way, as well, to make it a bit easier on you guys."

They spent the next fifteen minutes going through a few tests with Dean, filling out release forms and making sure medical insurance information was properly filled out and could be transferred to a facility in Sioux Falls. They were moving to stay in Bobby's house as Dean recovered, Sam more than pleased with the plan to get away from John's presence.

As they were rolling Dean out of the hospital, they spotted a figure a bit aways from the old van Bobby had brought to accommodate Dean's limited mobility. Dean saw the impala before he realized his dad was hesitantly leaning against it, watching but not coming closer. He set his hands on Sam's, suddenly, where his brother was walking besides the chair and made a soft sound for Bobby to stop. The older man did, following Dean's gaze to the familiar car and the older man. The air instantly thickened with tension but Dean squeezed Sam's hand hard to stop him for saying anything. "Sammy, could you...go wait by the car?"

Sam instantly started protesting, putting himself in Dean's line of vision and scowling. "Dean, I don't wan-"

"I know, Sam." Dean said, cutting him off with a sharp look. His weary greens eyes stared up in to hazel for a long, silent moment after that, before Sam's shoulder's slumped in defeat. "I won't be long. I promise." Dean reassured, taking Sam's hand in his again and squeezing it lightly before turning to look over his shoulder at Bobby, offering him an hesitant, questioning gaze.

Bobby sighed, pulling out his keys and tossing them to Sam. "Alright, yah idjit. But only for half a minute. We already talked to John about this…" He muttered, wheeling Dean hesitantly in John's direction. His father's eyes lit up when he saw Dean coming his direction, and his face fell into a look that made Dean's chest ache with undefined agony. He made Bobby stop the chair by the trunk, settling a hand on the warm metal of the black car. He hesitated in looking up at John, forcing himself to after a long moment.

"Hey." He said in a shallow voice, almost a croak.

John's face contorted and he blinked away the evidence of tears as he looked his son over from his spot by the driver's side door. He wanted to move closer, but he wasn't going to push Dean's limits. "Hey, son."

Dean cleared his throat, looking away. "You been taking care of my car?" 

John laughed softly, biting his lip as he watched Dean gently pet the trunk of the Impala. "Yah, she's done good."

"Good." Dean nodded, eyes stuck more on the car than John. He was having a hard time looking at his father, when everytime he did he saw glimpses of him trussed up and unable to help. "Needs her oil changed soon." He said absently, more atuned to the car than John was. Silece hung heavy between them for a moment before Dean darted a short, hollowed out look towards his father. "So. You gonna be okay on your own for a while?"

John let out a choked laugh, humor lost in it. "Yeah, yeah...I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me." His heart swelled with emotion seeing his first born sitting their looking so tiny, so fragile. Dean must have lost ten, maybe fifteen pounds that he didn't have the luxury of loosing. He was pale, and tired looking, and John had to fight back the mental image of the last time he'd seen his son looking healthy. He could still see the way they had hurt him, still hear their awful words, hear the repressed sounds of pain coming from Dean's throat. "I've uh, I've got a place I'm gonna stay near Sioux Falls, out of the way, gonna...try not to hunt for a bit...just in case." He didn't say what the just in case was, but Dean felt like he knew the unspoken intent. "But don't worry about me. No, no. I want you to just worry about yourself. Keep your head up, get back your strength. Bobby's got Sammy's back right now…" Dean shivered at the last words, never imaging his father would ever willingly tell him not to directly watch out for his younger brother. He was, for the first time, telling Dean to watch out for himself, and it made him ache. Made him feel off, wrong, unsettled. He had to look away suddenly, feeling a little sick. His face paled a bit, nausea rolling through his system for a moment. He had to bring a hand up to his mouth, covering it in silence for a moment before swallowing back a subtle burn of acid.

He nodded slowly, not looking back up at his father. He didn't have the strength to, just yet. "I'll be fine." He whispered out. "I should...we should…" He glanced towards were Sam was watching them uncertainly from across the parking lot, face a mask of unhidden anger at their father. "Sam's waiting…" He finished. It was a clear sign he needed out, and now, and Bobby, thank god, was on top of that. He turned the chair and gently pushed it forward, saying goodbye to John.

"I'll be in touch if I need yah." Bobby said gruffly, taking Dean away from the presence that had upset Dean so suddenly. Dean hated that he couldn't even look at his father any more, hated that things had changed. There was a small part of his mind that told him he had failed his father, that he could have fought longer, should have listened to Dad's warnings more. There was a louder, uglier part that kept saying that no, it wasn't all Dean's fault. Dad should have been there sooner, should have been prepared, should have been able to stop it from happening. He'd just hung there, uselessly, and watched him get raped.

Dean barely paid attention to the process of loading him into the car, only really focusing again when he jarred his leg a little and his knee cap flared with pain. He winced but pushed the pain away as he leaned into the seat in the back of the van. Sam settled into the spot next to him, instantly lacing their fingers together as Bobby finished loading up the wheelchair and then got in the front.

It was a good hour again before Dean phased back to a state where he was willing to talk again, turning his head to look at Sam tucked next to him, reading some book. Sam's eyes instantly darted over to Dean's when he moved, eyes lighting up curiously. It wasn't hard to see the worry in the kid's eyes, and Dean felt kind of bad that he'd made his brother worry. He hadn't meant to, he just seemed to phase out sometimes, either remembering what happened, or working his mind so hard to stop himself from remembering.

Sam, seeing Dean's soft smile, instantly sprang to life, telling Dean about school, and some wild story he'd heard, animatedly working to keep Dean distracted, yet focused on him. Dean didn't know what he would do without Sam at this point, his world narrowing down to being there for his brother. After what had happened, Dean found himself entertaining ideas that before the assault would have seemed absurd, but that now just danced their way across his mind with awful temptations for ways to get out of the pain, to get away from the memories, and people forever.

Sam's smile and soft eyes full of concern pulled him back from the dark thoughts dancing in his mind,   
and Dean couldn't help but lean a little closer to his brother, sliding their entwined fingers into his lap as he leaned a bit closer, nudging Sam's head with the tip of his nose gently. Sam said nothing, going quiet instead watching Dean again with those big eyes. 

A small, hesitant smile pulled at Dean's lips, glad for the silent acceptance of comfort. "So, what arey ou reading, anyways?" He asked, nudging the book in Sam's lap slightly with an elbow. Sam's expression stayed still for a moment as he stared up at Dean, before he sshifted slightlly, pushing his way into Dean's side and letting his older brother lean into him. 

"Lord of the Rings. The first one." He said flipping to the front. "I can read it to you if you want. I know you're not a fan of long reads in the car." He said, eyes already on the first words, waiting for Dean to say go ahead.

Dean let out a soft sigh, his breath ruffling the tops of Sam's hairs on his head as Dean leaned his cheek against the soft mop of hair. "Read away." He knew there was no point in saying no to Sam, and he didn't really want to. Sam's voice helped him settle down, kept his mind off other things. Tales of hobbits and rings that he'd already read, but wouldn't admit to Sam, would help distract him, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapters does include flash backs to the first chapter.

Dean stared at the ceiling to his room in silence. He could hear Sam downstairs getting ready for school. It had been about a week since they made it to Bobby’s, and somehow it still all felt like a dream. A blur. He listened as the door closed, and Sam’s voice faded away as Bobby walked with Sam to the edge of the property to get on the bus. It took less than a minute of the silence to have his vision blacking out, staring but unseeing. He didn’t dare breathe, his jaw locked tight and hands clenched white knuckled into the sheets.

_“Do whatever you want to me, but don’t you touch him. Please, he’s just a kid, let him go, please.”_

Dean’s felt the ghost of a knife along his skin, sliding under his clothes, cutting it away. He felt sweat beading across his brow, his chest, his back, making the fabric that was in reality still there cling to his still yellow bruised skin.

_“Such a pretty princess shouldn’t wear such dirty clothes.”_

Dean gagged, feeling the burn of bile at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down raggedly, and blinked helplessly against the fog covering his mind. They were on him, in him, pressing into his belly until his insides ached so badly he felt acid trying to crawl up the back of his nose as he forced it down with a wretched hacking cough. The sweat on his skin felt like their tongues, their hands, their words pressing into him. It felt like hot, sticky blood coating him everywhere. He swallowed down a sob, feeling the heat of salty tears rolling down his face _._

 _“No! No...please, leave it...please.”_ One hand loosened suddenly and grasped at the pendant still around his throat. He curled his palm around the protruding edges and grasped it hard, feeling it dig into his skin. _“Please, it’s special.”_

Sucking in a sharp breath, Dean sat up quickly, walking shakily and blindly to the bathroom and found the toilet edge just as the bile rose again in his throat. He felt his body convulsing on the small amount of food in his system, forcing it up and out it painful hacks. His body twitched, sending pain rippling through his body. His body was empty, but it kept trying to expel the memories, the details that were so vivid in Dean’s mind.

_“Can you feel that, Dean? His big fat cock filling you up so deep, so fucking deep I can feel it through your stomach? Can you feel that? Feel my hands rubbing his cock through your little belly? He’s balls deep in you, Princess. You took his cock like such a good little slut, didn’t you, baby boy?”_

Dean’s hands trembled as they scrambled for his shirt, getting his fingers up under the fabric and pressing into his belly. He slumped helplessly against the side of the tub, vision wavering between reality and memory. He could see Artie’s face in front of his, inches away. A shadow of a memory. He could feel the burn in his thighs as they stretched, as they were forced wider. He could see that cruel, too pleased expression on that man’s face as he looked at Dean’s body, at the way he could see and feel his brothers body deep inside Dean.

_“Your ass was made for this, made to be a hole for me to fuck, to gape, to claim.”_

_“Not even fighting it, you fucking slut. Desperate for it, aren’t you?”_

Dean’s hands scrambled away from his flat stomach up to his face, covering his eyes as he pressed his knuckles into the already bruised looking skin. He wanted to press the memories from his eyes, scratch it away.

_“Gonna burn myself into you, fuck you til you can’t walk for weeks.”_

Dean jolted upright, staggering as his legs shook under him. He nearly toppled backwards into the bathtub, but caught himself in time to feel nausea cascade through him again. He fell to his knees harshly as he gagged on nothing, his body trembling uncontrollably as it tried to expel what wasn’t there to be expelled.

_“Make your pretty little tummy big and swollen with my fist and my cum. Wanna breed you like a bitch, fill you up, make you fat with my seed, swollen and bloated. Want to shove my cum so deep inside you you'll never get it out. Never be clean. My pretty little slut.”_

_Never be clean. Never be clean._

“Dean?”

_“So good for me, so good for your brother aren’t you, just taking my cock for him.”_

“Dean? I’m coming in!”

“D-don’t...d-don’t...t-touch h-him…” Dean’s ears were ringing, one hand shaking on the toilet bowl where he was gripping it desperately as his body convulsed every few seconds.

“Oh, Dean…”

Dean blinked past the tears in his eyes, hearing a voice in the distance. A second later he felt a hand on his shoulder. Without thinking, he jerked backwards, scrambling into the corner between the toilet and the tub, staring in fear at the figure in front of him. He clutched both hands around his amulet and blinked wide wet eyes up at the man crouching in front of him hesitantly. His vision flickered with the memory of Artie’s face before he saw the grey beard, the familiar ball cap.

“B-bo-bobby?” He stammered in confusion, seeing the moisture in the corner of old familiar eyes.

“It’s me, son. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-I’m not scared!” Dean hissed, wiping furiously at his face as reality washed over him. Shit. This episode had been bad. Really bad. He felt like roadkill, or like someone took a baseball bat to his skull. His head was throbbing, his body ached, and his left hand felt numb where it was resting against his chest. “I-I’m fine.”

“Certainly don’t look like it, son.” Bobby responded dryly, getting more and more used to Dean’s attempts at avoiding what happened. For a while he’d thought Dean was coping with it pretty damn well, just phasing out now and then, but the longer he was alone in the house with the recovering boy the more and more he noticed just how much Dean was hiding from Sam and himself.

“It’s nothing, I’m good, I’m fine.” Dean denied with a shake of his head that sent his vision swirling slightly. In seconds Bobby was in front of him, holding the side of his head and guiding it upright before he could hit it into the side of the toilet tank. “I-i’m fine…” He protested weakly.

“Come on, Deano. I got you, come on, let me help.” He gently coaxed Dean’s shaky, weak form out from the cramped space he had pressed himself into. He eased Dean’s arm around his shoulder and slowly led him out into the bedroom with a patient, steady hand. He helped Dean to the edge of the bed and made him sit down. His eyes flickered down to Dean’s left hand, unconsciously clutching the amulet Sam had given him all those years ago. He carefully eased Dean’s fingers open and frowned at the red edges of Dean’s palm. “You can’t go hurting yourself like this, son.”

Dean frowned, looking down at his hand as if realizing for the first time that it hurt. “It was...it...Sam’s...helps…” He could hardly make his voice work, rasping out the words brokenly. “Don’t...don’t tell Sammy…”

“I won’t, Dean. But you gotta promise you’ll stop hurting yourself.”

He nodded weakly, turning his eyes slowly up towards Bobby. He could see the deep wrinkles in his eyes, the pained expression on his features, the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He looked the oldest Dean had ever seen him. “Bobby…?”

“Yeah, Deano?”

“Thank you…”

“For what?” He asked, turning grey eyes on Dean’s face, a frown curving his lips down as he saw the absolute exhaustion hanging on to Dean’s features. He had bags and bruises under his eyes, the whites of his eyes red from crying, his skin pale and sweaty.

“Stopping them…” He choked out in a whisper. “For stopping it...f-for….f-for letting Sam stay here. F-for...f-for killing him.”

Bobby didn’t hesitate at all to reach up and wrap his arms around Dean’s trembling shoulders, soothing him through the tears. “It’s going to be okay, son. Sam and I will help you through this.” In his mind he was back in that warehouse. He was seeing Dean laying their under that man, arms twisted up behind his back, hands tied together painfully tight, and that man thrusting into him spewing those filthy words. He remembered seeing the look of pleasure on the man’s face as he came. He didn’t remember firing, but he could remember the sound Dean had made when the weight went crashing down on his back, could remember taking the other two out with ease and then turning back to see Dean’s eyes fluttering open in confusion, hollowed out and distant, not understanding what was happening. He had taken Sam and John down quickly, and turned to go help the wounded boy. The sight of blood, or the damage to Dean’s body, of the bruises and the cum leaking red down his legs. It made him sick, haunted his memories. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like for Sam, for John, and more of all for Dean.

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” He held Dean through the tears and the sobs, and the little broken pleas not to go yet, not to leave him alone, not to tell Sam, don’t tell sam, please, don’t tell sammy, i’m fine, don’t tell sammy, don’t tell sammy.

Bobby rocked Dean gently until he was fading off in his arms, eyes fluttering shut and back open, desperate not to fall asleep, but slipping away in an exhausted heap. Bobby laid him down slowly, carefully, soothing his fitful attempts to wake back up, and brushing his sweaty hair from his face. The kids face was pinched and tense even in his sleep, and as Bobby sat at the edge of the bed for the next little half hour he watched as Dean fussed in his sleep, kicking and twisting and making little sounds of distress in the back of his throat that he tried to muffle in the sheets and pillows, even going so far as to bit into the meat of his hand as he fought the terrors in his mind.

Bobby tried to ease him through the bad memories, brushing at his hair and easing his teeth from his skin gently with quietly spoken words. He fought off his own tears and torments until Dean had settled down a little at last. Walking from the room, he hated knowing it wouldn’t be long before Dean was back to his troubled dreams. He made his way down to the kitchen and made himself some coffee, wishing he could add a dash of Jack Daniels to it, but knowing if he gave in now he’d been drinking all day and might miss another one of Dean’s panic attacks. He feared what went through Dean’s mind in the silence of his room. He wouldn’t have known anything was wrong if it weren’t for the sound of Dean’s knees crashing to the floor.

Sitting down heavily on the porch he waited patiently for that yellow bus to return home with Sam. The younger brother was the only thing that seemed to keep Dean focused on the present, on reality. Without fail, every day since they’d been here, Dean would come downstairs just in time for Sam to return from school. The younger boy would run up to his brother on the porch and smile a smile that made Bobby’s heart ache. Dean would sit with Sam as he did his homework, would stare blankly at the TV until Sam’s attention was on him, and then he would sit and listen to Sam read his latest book. They were on currently on Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird”, and though Dean would pretend he didn’t care, or wasn’t listening he would always sit there and watch as Sam read, pressed side to side on the couch, book visible to both of them as Sam navigated the pages.

Once Sam was done reading for the night he would lean against Dean’s shoulder and they would just sit and talk until it got dark. Mostly it would just be Sam talking, small hand holding Dean’s shaky one, trying to distract him from his own mind. Sam would nod off before Dean each night, and the older brother would gently stand up, take Sammy’s hand and lead him upstairs to his room across from Dean’s and tuck him in to bed. Bobby would hear him leave about an hour later, shuffling tired feet to his own room where he would silently close the door and hide away until the next day. Bobby worried, and so did Sam. Every morning Sam would demand that Bobby watch after Dean, make sure he’s getting to his appointments, taking his medicine, and exercising.

Dean was slowly getting his strength back, but Bobby feared for his mental stability. He feared for how fragile he seemed in his moments of silence. He feared that if Sam wasn’t here, Dean would just give up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotional beating, here. 
> 
> Warning: Mentions of past child abuse.

The black paint shimmered in the sun, and Dean couldn’t help but stare at in in wonder. It had been a month now, of living at Bobby’s, and it still felt unreal. Time didn’t seem to move at all, but it also didn’t feel like it was going slow. He knew time was passing, could feel it day by day, the way his mind was getting used to it. But to him it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. He still flashed back to that day, felt it everywhere at once. He’d get panicky, jittery, feel suffocated. It was a bit easier, though it was no less intense each time. His body healing was the biggest factor to him feeling different. The bruises were gone, the pain in his ribs, collar bones, kneecaps, and wrist were nearly nonexistent. He was stronger, again, as if he had never been in the hospital at all. 

It was midday and Dean had woken from a fitful late morning nap to the sound of a familiar rumbling engine as it pulled in front of the house. He’d known instantly who’s car it was, and had gotten out of bed mechanically, trodding downstairs in his rumpled sweatshirt and baggy sweat pants. He’d stood in the doorway until the men outside noticed him. 

Bobby’s face looked pinched, eyes hard as he spotted Dean watching John cautiously, eyes tracking him around the car. They were saying something Dean couldn’t hear, and it was obvious Bobby wasn’t happy John was there. Sam was still at school, and would be for the next three hours.

“He needs to stop moping around! How is just sitting around all day helping him? He needs to get back to doing things!” John’s voice carried suddenly with his increased frustration at Bobby. “And he can start now.” John stalked towards the house, Bobby at his heels trying to keep him back. “Dean! Get out here!” 

Dean felt rooted to the spot, gripping the edge of the door frame tight as he looked out to his father’s approaching figure. He was so close now, so close, and only thing between them were a few steps and a flimsy screen door. 

“Dean! I’m not playing around. I mean it, get out here. That’s an order.” That tone in his voice slithered into Dean’s mind and kicked him into gear, fear of punishment for disobeying an order making him scramble at the door knob to the screen and shuffle out to the top of the stairs, eyes downcast as he looked to his bare feet, trembling without realizing it as he saw John’s shadow at the edge of his sight. 

“See, I told you. He just needs to get back into things. He’s fine. Look at him.” 

Bobby looked, and he couldn’t believe how blind John could be to Dean. It was obvious the boy had only reacted out of fear, his father’s commands ingrained in his young mind. He stood there looking like a soldier, ready for his orders, the visual only broken by his downcast eyes and shaking shoulders. “John, stop it. Look at him yourself. He’s terrified. You’re pushing things too far-” 

John’s snarl echoed in Dean’s ears, and he hardly realized he had backed away into the edge of the door until he was hearing their yelling again. 

“-stop being sucha pig headed fool!” 

“Stop trying to raise my son! He’s a man! He’s gotta learn. He’s useless just sitting there all day doing nothing!” 

“Look at him!” Bobby snarled back. “Look! Really look. He’s not okay, John. Would you be doing this if it was Sam? If Dean were a girl? Why can’t you just let the kid recover in peace!” 

“Because he’s MY son, and I know what’s best for him. He’s not your kid, Singer. Neither is Sam, and it’s because I trusted you to help him recover that I let them stay here in the first place. It’s been more than a month. He’s had time. We’ve all had time, and he needs to start doing things again if he’s gonna fucking recover.” 

“That’s not-”

“Dean! Go get some fucking shoes on, and hurry your ass back out here in some real clothes, asap.” 

“John, stop it! Dean, you don’t have to do what he-” Bobby turned away in time to see Dean scrambling inside, deaf to the voice of reason that Bobby was trying to offer. “You’re a fool, Winchester.” Bobby said instead, eyes dark as he glared at John. “A pig headed fool. This isn’t going to help him. This is gonna set him back, fuck him up in the head even more.” 

“No son of mine is fucked up in the head. He just needs to remember what I’ve been training him for, what’s out there. I got a small case a few towns over, enough to ease him back in. Once he’s working again he’ll see, he’ll get better. Just you watch. Aint no son of mine somebody’s fuck toy. I just gotta train him better, get him stronger, and then no one can touch him again. I’m not gonna let my son lay around thinking about some fucking faggots all day. Back off, Singer. I’ll bring him back tomorrow once we’re done.” 

\------

“Dean?” Sam’s voice echoed through the living room, and he knew instantly something was wrong. There was a charged energy to the air, and it felt like one spark and he’d be burning up like his mother all those years ago. 

Bobby’s shuffling feet came around the corner from the kitchen, and his eyes were tired and worn. He was nursing a tumbler of ice and whiskey, and he looked like someone had just kicked his dog. “He aint here.” 

“Where is he?” Sam stomped over to him, grabbing the glass from his hand and sniffing it, looking at it in disgust as he glared at Bobby accusingly. 

“John came by. Spewing nonsense about some case nearby, wanting to get Dean back in the hunt to help him get over it. I told Dean he didn’t have to go, but John kept yelling at him. Kid didn’t even give me a second look, just shuffled over to the impala like a whipped dog.” 

“God dammit!” Sam screamed, anger quickly filling his veins, eyes seeing nothing but red hot hatred for his father. He stomped over to the phone and dialed John’s number harshly with quick jabs of his finger. 

“He’s fine.” Was what answered him. Sam instantly bristled to hear John’s voice. 

“Put him on the fucking phone now, or so help me I will set the police on your fucking ass.” Sam snarled.

There was silence on the other end for a moment before Sam could hear John telling Dean to come answer the phone. There was some shuffling and then a soft, barely there “Hey, Sammy.” 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Hey, Sammy’ me, you dumbass. What the fuck are you doing with him? Why weren’t you here when I got home?”

“I had to, Sammy…” 

“Like hell. He’s got no say in our lives, Dean. I don’t care if he is our dad, he failed us. He failed you! Where are you? I want you home tonight.” 

“You know I can’t, Sam, it’s dad. You know how he gets. It’s just...it’s one case. I’ll be fine. I’ll be home tomorrow.” 

“Goddamnit! No! Dean, you’re not his soldier. He’s not your fucking drill sergeant. He’s your father, and he should fucking know better. Did you even take your medicine with you? Did he even care to know that you have any? Dean, he’s gonna make it all worse!” 

“He’s trying to make it normal.” Dean hissed in a low voice. 

“Well he’s not! Our life with him was never normal! He doesn’t care about us, he just wants soldiers, puppets, mindless followers-”

“-Sam-”

“No! No, Dean. No. He’s gonna make it worse. I know him, you know him. H-he’s...D-dean-” Sam’s voice broke as the tears finally spilled down his cheeks. “He didn’t protect you, us, whatever. H-he promised and he didn’t and I don’t...I can’t...I can’t trust him to bring you back safe. I can’t. I just want you safe, D-Dean. Please. Tell me where you are, let Bobby and me come get you. P-please?” 

“Sam-” Dean’s voice was cut off by a banging sound on the door from his end, and John telling Dean to get off the phone. “Sammy, I-I...I gotta go, there’s someone at the door, I, dad is...I’ll...I’ll be back tomorrow. Dad will get me back tomorrow.” 

“Dean! No! Don’t you fucking hang u-” The dial tone greet him even before he cut himself off. He clutched the phone tight, blind with his anger. He felt the plastic creak, and forced himself to slam the silent device back into it’s place on the receiver. Rashly, he kicked the counter in front of him and threw a punch at the wall, feeling the pain spike up his arm after a moment of numbness. He turned with a silent snarl and saw Bobby standing by the door. 

Sam couldn’t help it any more than he could have stop himself from kicking the counter, he stalked over towards Bobby and shoved a tiny finger into his chest. “This is your fault! You said you’d take care of us! Of him! You just let him take him!” 

“Sam, you need to take a breather.” Bobby said, guiding the fuming boy to sit down at the kitchen table. “I am taking care of him, but you gotta understand, son. I can’t keep Dean here any more than I can stop you from being mad at me. Dean’s still a minor. Still your Daddy’s boy. I aint got any legal say over you boys, even if I wish I did.”

“Then get it!” Sam snapped, pushing angrily at the table before grabbing at Bobby’s shirt suddenly, leaning up towards him with an eager look. “You can, can’t you? I m-mean, John’s not doing himself any favors. You could get custody over us, couldn’t you?” 

“Sam, it’s not that eas-” 

“I don’t care if it’s easy! I want us safe! I want Dean safe! I want to stop living in a world where my father drags my brother around like a toy on a string and uses him as bait for the sick, twisted monsters out there!” 

“He’s not using Dean as b-” 

“He is.” Sam snarled, pushing out of his chair and starting to pace around the table furiously, eyes flickering to the floor and back to Bobby repeatedly. “You think he’s not? You think he doesn’t do it constantly? You’re not there! H-he’s...he’s brainwashed Dean, made him think it’s fine, makes him think he’s doing something more important, but instead Dad’s got him right in the middle of everything-” Sam choked up, thrusting his hands up over his eyes to cover the tears as they started flowing again. “I don’t want- I c-can’t….Bobby, I can’t see him get hurt like that again. I c-can’t. I can’t, I can’t let him go through that again, or anything else, y-you saw it, s-saw him laying t-there with t-that m-m-man i-in him. Y-you didn’t- Bobby, you didn’t hear t-the...t-the awful t-things h-he...y-you didn’t have t-to j-just hang t-there useless and w-w-watch it...h-hear it…g-get it branded in your fucking brain.” Sam tapped at the side of his head furiously, wiping at his wet cheeks angrily. “He d-didn’t make a sound, Bobby. Not one, not unless…n-not until he was begging that man not to hurt me, not t-to go b-back on his promise- t-that m-monster made it like...made him….t-they….h-he...oh god, Bobby, t-they hurt him so bad...t-they...h-he...t-t-the blood and t-the w-w-wor-” 

Bobby was there, in front of him, had been for a while, gently gripping his shoulders but Sam hadn’t even realized, hadn’t seen. He threw himself into Bobby’s arms and sobbed, clinging to his middle as the tears came pouring out of him unchecked. 

“T-they h-hurt m-my D-De.” He gasped between hiccuping sobs. “D-daddy h-hurts D-de, t-too…” 

“Sam, Sam, I need you to listen to me.” Bobby pulled back suddenly, face intense and serious, eyes furious looking. “I need you to be completely honest here. Does John hurt Dean? Outside of the hunts?” 

Sam nodded slowly, meeting Bobby’s gaze. He was trembling all over, scared and angry and terrified what might happen from here on out. “S-sometimes...h-he...when he drinks a l-lot, he tells Dean h-he looks like m-mom, g-gets angry at h-him...throws the b-bottles at him. H-he...h-he h-hit De once c-cause I...I messed u-up a h-hunt and D-De took the b-blame.”

“Oh, Sam-” Bobby pulled the young boy into his arms and held him close, rubbing at his trembling back. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’m gonna get you and your brother away from him. I never knew he went that far-” He shook his head, turning his gaze to the ceiling to fight off the sting of tears. “You’re gonna have to be brave, though, it’s not gonna be easy.” 

“I-I-I j-just want De safe. Please, Bobby. J-just get him a-awy f-from d-dad.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but figured it was better than nothing! Sorry for the long wait. A LOT has been going on. I'm actually posting this at a lull in work xD. Enjoy. I'll try to have more up faster than before.

“Dad?” Dean’s hands were shaking where they were hovering over the nightstand. He refused to hold on, trying to tell himself it was alright, he was alright. If he had to lean on something for support than that meant something was wrong. His palms were sweaty, his heart thundering, everything tight and tense and too much, too much, too much. “D-dad?” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. The room felt like it was closing in on him faster and faster, and he needed his dad to just wake up. Please, just wake up. 

The older man shifted in his bed slowly, grumbling low as he turned his head in Dean’s direction but didn’t open his eyes, not sensing the urgency that Dean was experiencing. It was late, the clock reading a dark, bold, red three am. 

“Dad, I-I...I need you to wake up, please…” He brought one hand shakily to his chest, pressing hard to the center of his breast where his Sammy’s necklace lay.

“Dean?” John’s voice was rough, low with sleep as he blinked open his eyes to see Dean standing by the edge of the bed. His whole body was shaking, hands trembling, face grey and clamy looking. 

“D-dad. I-I need t-the car keys.” 

John sat up and narrowed his eyes at Dean, eyes tracking down his form. He was wearing nearly the same thing John had told him to change out of earlier that day: Thick sweat pants, dark socks, and a heavy hoody that engulfed him. He looked unstable where he stood, as if a breeze would send him reeling. “What?” 

“M-my medicine...it’s…” Dean’s eyes glazed and he went silent in the space of a second, face going blank as his eyes took on a faraway look. He stopped moving completely, mouth left parted on a barely there breathe, like some sort of switch had been thrown. 

John was up and out of the bed in an instant, grabbing at Dean’s arm, afraid the boy would collapse on the spot. The moment Dean felt his touch he was ripping himself from John’s grip and stumbling backwards. John barely had a chance to catch him as he tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor, scuttling backwards on his ass towards the nearest corner. He pressed himself tight against the small kitchenette counter, bringing his hands up to his face and covering his head. Dean didn’t make a sound, shockingly still. His only sound the slightly ragged pants muffled in his arms. 

John froze where he stood, his first instinct telling him to back away, not to go near Dean like this, that it would set the boy off more. The stupider side of his mind was telling him to snap, to tell Dean to get up, to stop cowering like some sissy and man up. An even smaller part was telling him to go over there and help, damnit. Help his son, his first born, the only thing in his life that still reminded him of his beloved Mary. Help him. 

“Dean?” His voice was rough even to his own ears and he didn’t make a move forward at all, uncertain what to do; caught between instinct and training and that darker seed that took root so often. “Dean, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” 

Dean’s silence made John shiver, unsettled and still lingering in a half asleep haze. “Dean. Stop it. Look at me this instance.” 

Dean’s head snapped up, as if pulled by John’s orders. His eyes were glazed looking, a little misty in the corners, and his face was shockingly pale. John read exhaustion in the dark bruised circles under his eyes, in the red irritation in the whites of his gaze. He saw terror and fear in his son’s expression. Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat, eyes snapping to the twitch that rocked Dean’s entire form at the sound. Still half huddle, arms tucked around his head, knees pulled in tight. 

“You woke me up.” He could see it in Dean’s eyes, that he was running on instinct, some other mental state pushing him into action. “Asking for my keys. For medicine? What medicine?” ‘

Dean blinked heavily, getting a glazed, confused look on his face before lowering his eyes, seeing his own feet and then slowly skittering his gaze around the room, as if half taking in the situation, the scene around him. A furrow formed between his brows, and he seemed to crumple further in on himself when he found his gaze back on John. 

“Son. Answer me.” John pressed, trying not to falter in his harsh tone. He knew at times he pushed his sons further than most fathers, knew he projected his military training on them more frequently then perhaps he should, but seeing Dean like this? Those monsters had done something to his son, had broken his head, and he couldn’t even take revenge, or teach the boy how to do it himself because they were gone. 

Dean’s lips thinned out, and a tiny sliver of pink peeked out to wet chapped looking lips as his eyes did a fast sweep of the room once more, as if confirming everything was in place. “Meds.” His voice was dry, barely a noise. 

“Yes, your meds. Where are they?” He pressed, figuring better get them now ask questions later. Maybe if the boy had his medicine he’d snap out of this fit. “Trunk?”

Dean’s expression puzzled more, and he shook his head. His hands moved faintly, arms seeming to sag down besides his knees as his head sank towards the wall, his whole body seeming to lose rigidity. He managed to shake his head just slightly, parched lips parting to breath out a tiny “Sammy’s…” 

John knew instantly where Dean meant, nodding. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.” Not waiting to see if Dean responded, he head out to the impala without a thought to grabbing his shoes, nearly stepping on a piece of gum in his haste to get what his son needed. He hastily opened the back door and rooted under the seat his youngest usual took, finding the bag of pill bottles quickly. He faltered, seeing the labels and recognizing the contents instantly. His heart sank. 

He stumbled back from the car, closing the door with a weak thud and treading back towards the motel room door, seeing it left open in his haste to help his eldest. His carelessness made him hurry his feet back to the room, closing the door and testing the salt line was still in place before turning to face his son. 

Dean’s eyes were closed, his face pale as a sheet, his breaths labored and his hands shaking where he had them clutching around his amulet. There was sweat trickling down from his hair, and just the barest hints of tears clinging to his damp eyelashes.

“Dean.” John approached uncertainly, brought up short by the sight of his son. Dean wasn’t a kid any more, but seeing him huddled into a corner John couldn’t see the man he always wanted Dean to become. He saw his sixteen year old son in pain, struggling with his own body and mind, and there was nothing John could do about it. He grabbed his travel canister of water from the counter and sank into a low crouch, keeping some distance between them so as not to spook Dean again. “I have your meds, and some water. What do you need?” 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open weakly, barely staying open enough to see beyond his own knees. He sucked in a sharp little breath as he turned his head to get his eyes on John. He slowly peeled one hand away from his chest and held it out shakily. 

“Son, you can barely keep your head up. Just tell me.” He opened the bag and set the bottles out in a small, neat row. He tapped the first one questioningly, and waited for Dean’s shake of his head before asking it of the next two as well. Dean nodded for the third, holding out two fingers to indicate his dose. “You’re okay. Here you go. I’ll help you with the water. Just open your mouth, I got you. I’m not going to hurt you.” John soothed, unsure where the gentle words came from. He didn’t think he’d spoken to Dean like he was a child in over a decade. What kind of father did that? The boy was sixteen. Just hitting puberty, finally getting his height in, his voice slowly deepening. 

He helped Dean get the pills into his mouth and then carefully poured in a small amount of water. Dean swallowed thickly, nearly sputtering the water back up as he choked, coughing roughly as the pills went down. 

“It’s okay, breath through it, bud.” He whispered, trying to keep his composure. Even when Dean had been face down on that floor, another man violating him, he’d never seen his son look so helpless before. 

Weakly wiping at his chin, Dean sank back into the wall, energy nonexistent. Closing his eyes again, a single wet stream dripped from his lashes down the side of his cheek. John reached for his boys cheek without thinking, wiping away the salty tear. Dean’s eyes flicked open wide in an instant and he weakly twisted to push John away, kicking out at his father’s legs ineffectively and batting at his outstretched arm. John stilled in shock, seeing the plain and simple expression of fear in his son’s eyes as they met his. 

“Oh, Deano-” His voice choked up, and he felt himself sink down to his knees, reaching for Dean and pulling him into his arms, cradling the teens head close under his chin. “My Dean.” He felt the tears drip into Dean’s hair, uncontrolled. “I’m so sorry.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sam heard the rumble of the engine from the kitchen before Bobby could even register what had the young Winchester jumping out of the seat and running out to the front porch. He planted himself at the bottom of the steps, arms folded as he glared at the approaching car. His mind had been running wild all night, unable to sleep, and now he felt like he was going to leap out of his skin if he didn’t see Dean soon. The worry was unbearable, and he’d felt wrung out all morning. 

His eyes narrowed when he saw the car, one silhouette highlighted by the early morning sun. He was instantly moving forward, even before the car was parked. His heart hammered with panic when he didn’t immediately see Dean. He ignored his father in the front seat, going straight for the back door and opening it as his father sighed at the lack of greeting from his youngest, and got out of the car with a heavy huff of breath. Laying in a bundle of blankets they’d obviously stolen from the motel, Dean was on his side, shoulders trembling beneath the layers of fabric. His head was peeking out from the cocoon he was in, and he was staring at Sam with bags of exhaustion under his eyes, face pale, but alert. 

Sam felt all his energy seep away, and he crawled into the footbed of the car, ignoring his gangly height and too long limbs, unused to his continuing growth spurt. He wrapped his arms around his brother desperately and pressed his face into the faintly trembling shoulders. “Are you hurt?” 

“Not a scratch.” Dean’s voice was rough, low, hard to hear with how tight Sam was pressing himself into the blanket surrounding Dean. One hand made it’s way out of the bundle and Dean took Sam’s nearest hand in his, fingers clammy and cold, even though Sam could feel the remnants of the heaters blast in the dry air of the car’s cabin. “Sorry.”

“You’re a dumbass.” Sam growled, anger surfacing again quickly at the apology, pressing his eyes into the blankets as he felt them sting with the beginnings of tears. “Stupid, stupid dumbass. What happened?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Meds were in the car. Dad had the keys.” Dean squeezed his brother’s hand gently, wishing he had more energy to comfort his brother. Sam shivered at the lack of heat in Dean’s fingers, frowning as he sniffled away his tears, nodding in understanding even though he still wanted to yell at him for how stupid he was for going in the first place. Of course it was the meds. Dean was an idiot for not bringing them inside in the first place, but at least he’d brought them at all. If this was his morning after with the medicine, Sam didn’t want to see one without. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the yard quiet. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to go inside with John in there. He was beyond furious at his father, and he knew if he saw him he might just punch him in his face. 

“Are you okay?” He asked after several long minutes passed. He was stalling, reluctant to make Dean move anyways. 

“No.” The reply was slow, delayed. The honesty in the single word had Sam sitting up a little to look at Dean’s face. His green eyes were lowered, staring at their combined hands with a glazed look to his eyes. “I think I scared dad.” 

“What happened?” Sam asked, turning to settle in a dip of the blankets, holding Dean’s still shaky hand closer to his chest, willing his own heat into the chilled fingers. 

Dean’s face closed off, eyes going distant. It took him a few long seconds to come back to himself. “Panic attack.” He paused for a breath before huffing out a confused “He hugged me.” His brow crinkled, a frown furrowing his features as he turned his face into the sheets more and away from Sam, hiding his shame at his own weakness. “I can’t...remember…” His voice faded off in a waver, and Sam swore he could see the shimmer of tears at the corner of Dean’s eyes were he was trying to hide their evidence. 

“It’s okay, De.” Sam’s voice barely held the sounds to his words. He knew it wasn’t okay, none of what had happened was okay. He hated seeing Dean like this, hated not being able to help and above all he hated his father for making it all worse. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

“Help me inside?” Dean asked after a few shaky breaths, getting himself back under control. He let go of Sam’s hand to try to push himself upright, feeling his arms shake with the small amount of effort. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from showing how weak he truly felt with Sam’s wet eyes staring at the side of his face with the look. He hated seeing that look on Sam’s face. He grabbed at the back of the driver’s seat, dragging his heavy body upright, clutching at Sam’s silently offered support as he looked to the door that was still open from where Sam had rushed into the car. 

He let out a shaky laugh, digging his fingers into Sam’s arm hard without meaning to, panic make his chest feel tight, his vision swimming as he thought about how far it was from the car to the door. He’d barely made it into the car without John’s help earlier that morning, and thinking about it again made him feel helpless. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded farther than it had moments before, like Dean was hearing him through cotton, or distorted through water. He felt his arms shaking, felt the spike of tension coil throughout his body. He could feel the panic that came from his own weakness swelling in his chest, making his heart hammer, his lungs tighten on each breath, his stomach churning. “Dean? Please answer me, you’re scaring me.” 

“Dean!” Sam’s scream broke through the haze that had clouded Dean’s mind, making his eyes flutter and flicker away from the vague imagery his mind had been trying to form. He turned to stare at Sam, taken aback by the panicked fear in those hazel eyes. 

“Sammy?” He blinked heavily a few times, trying to flush away the heavy feeling that had descended on him, taking in his own position in the car, half slumped over the crevice of the leg space against the back of his father’s seat. 

“What just happened? Are you okay?” Huge puppy dog eyes stared straight through Dean. He felt so exposed under Sam’s worried gaze, lost in the aftermath of whatever his mind had been dragging him towards.

“I don’t…” Dean’s voice faded off even as he got the sounds out, lips floundering on words he wasn’t sure meant anything anyways. His eyes fluttered down to where his hand was til clutched on Sam’s forearm, and he rushed to let go. His grip left a red ring around Sam’s smaller arm, and it sank a heavy stone of regret into Dean’s guts. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, barely even sure what he had done, what had caused this episode. He felt so damn helpless. His eyes flickered to the open door again and his gut clenched as if it was getting ready to expel what little he had managed to eat that morning. It felt like that man pressing into him, grabbing his belly and squeezing as he pushed in and in and in. Lightheadedness had him teetering, unstabilized grip making him keel forwards, his forehead hitting Sam’s shoulder before he realized he was falling forwards. 

“Dean?” There was the tone again, the soft, scared waver in his brother’s voice and Dean was the cause of it. He hated it, hated doing this to Sam, hated that he couldn’t even get himself up and out of the car without imagining what they did to him. 

He felt the hiccup get lodged in his throat before he even realized his tears were falling unchecked, his cheeks damp where he had teetered over into Sam’s chest, his gangly arms wrapping around him uncertainly and gentle fingers brushing through his too long hair. His dad would be mad at him if he didn’t cut it soon. He felt himself laughing again, these horrible choked sobs as his fingers curled into Sam’s shirt. 

“I’m s-sorry.” He gasped into Sam’s shoulder, feeling himself being rocked. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry Sammy, so sorry.” 

“Shh. It’s okay, Dean. I’m right here. You don’t have to apologize.” Sam’s voice was tender, soothing, lips pressed gently to his temples. “Let it out.” 

It’s not okay. It’s not. The thoughts echoed loud in Dean’s head, and he wanted to yell at himself to shut up, get a grip, deal with it already. How long had it even been since it happened, huh? And he still felt them on him, in him, against him. He could still hear them, taste the blood on his lips, feel the burn in his shoulders and thighs from the strain of being manhandled by them. 

“I can’t get them out, Sammy. I-I want them gone, want them outta my head.” He croaked, hearing the thickness in his tone as he pressed his face closer to Sam’s neck, desperate for the comfort he was being offered. “God, Sammy...I can’t…” His whole body shook with the sob stuck in his throat, the outpouring torrent of his mind in the comfort of his brother. “I don’t…” 

“It’s okay. I’m here. Focus on me. I’m here, Dean. They’re just a memory. I’m real. Focus on that.” 

“I want it to stop, why can’t I forget them?” He felt pathetic whispering it into Sam’s shoulder, felt pathetic leaning on his younger brother for support, for losing it over nothing. He couldn’t even remember what triggered all of this, he just knew he could still imagine the way they felt touching him, the words they whispered in his ear, the words Sam overheard because Dean’d been too weak to fight them off. He felt so drained, everything numb around him. He could feel the heat from Sam’s chest, his hands gliding along his back, through his hair, his gentle kisses to his temple. He didn’t deserve a brother like Sammy. He couldn’t even protect him when he didn’t feel like a four year old again. “I hate this, Samm’. Wanna be strong again. Needta protect you.” He didn’t know when the tears had stopped, when his muscles had loosened themselves enough for him to be nearly completely slumped over into Sam’s chest and lap. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, or wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist. 

“Was it my fault, Sammy?” 

“No, Dean.” Sam’s voice was sharp, immediate and his grip around Dean’s shoulders tightened as he pressed his cheek to the top of Dean’s head. “Of course not.”

“But…” 

“No buts, Dean. You didn’t deserve it. You’ve never deserved any of it.”

“Maybe they knew though.”

“Knew what. Dean?” Sam stared down at Dean’s profile, bringing a hand up to wipe away the drying tear tracks that lined his pale face. Dean’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, and he tilted his head up enough to meet Sam’s eyes. 

“That I’d been thinking about boys.” Sam barely heard the words, but he could see the fear shining back from Dean’s bag lined eyes were he was peeking up from under his too long locks. 

“Whats wrong with that?” Sam didn’t quite grasp the words, lost in the sorrow of Dean’s gaze. He’d never seen his brother look so utterly lost, afraid of what he was saying but risking it anyways. 

“Daddy doesn’t want a-” Dean’s voice cracked, wavering into a whisper of “f-fag for a son.” 

Oh. Sam’s skin prickled at the words, rage spiking hot under his skin, mouth running dry as he realized what Dean had just trusted him to. If their father knew this Sam could just imagine the rain of fists against Dean’s skin, the viscous snarls from his acrid mouth. He could see the spread of purple bruises along Dean’s body like a clip being played on repeat in his head.

“Who cares what Dad thinks?” He hissed. “He’s an abusive ass. I don’t care if you’re gay. I could never love you any less than I already do, and always will. You’re still my Dean.” Sam wanted to march right inside and kick John in the balls, make him feel even a fraction of the pain Dean felt at the thought of his disapproval. 

“You don’t think I’m disgusting?” 

“Never.” Sam snarled back.

“Sammy?” Softer, now. 

“Yeah, Dean?”

“I’m not gay.” Sam looked down to Dean’s face once again, spotting a little sparkle of life in his eyes, and a weak smile curl his lips. “I’m bi.” He whispered with a barely there flush to his cheeks from his embarrassed admittance. 

“I still love you, De.” That little smile broke Sam’s heart. “No matter what you are. You’re still my De.” 

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?” He responded once again, soothing his fingers through Dean’s long bangs as he tried to keep his heart from falling to pieces. 

“I’m gonna pass out now.” 

“Okay, Dean. I’ll stay here with you.” Always, he wanted to add as he watched those beautiful green eyes flutter closed, barely having managed to stay open this long anyways. He had felt the energy leaving Dean’s body, felt him sinking uncontrolled down his chest and half into his lap, his brother’s head now resting on Sam’s hip and belly. Sam would stay here as long as it took. It was his turn to watch out for Dean. He wanted to run inside and scream at John, curse him out and demand Bobby call the police right now. That man was fucking Dean up in the head even worse than normal, making him fear what was already scary enough to admit. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He kept hearing Dean saying those words, fearing the rejection he expected from echoes of their fathers’ hateful words. He needed to figure out some way to show Dean it was okay, it didn’t matter. Being bi didn’t mean he deserved to be hurt and hated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this up. Writers block and moving and life in general. So busy all the time. Hope you enjoy!

Dean woke up on the couch, a blanket half covering his legs. Sam’s head was heavy on the cushions by his legs. He blinked open his eyes to darkness, the greying light of the setting sun barely trickling in through the curtains. He felt disoriented, not entirely sure what day it was, or what had happened to make him wind up here. He sat up slowly, making sure not to disrupt Sam, and slowly slung his legs off the couch without waking his brother. 

For a split second he thought about moving Sam from his awkward position on the floor. He knew doing so would wake him, though, and that he barely had enough strength to keep himself standing. His head was buzzing and his vision went fuzzy as a momentary wave of dizziness washed over him. 

He shook his head when it passed, testing his ability to focus before padding around Sam slowly, silently towards the kitchen. He saw the light through the crack in the closed doors and knew he’d find someone waiting on the other side. He took a steadying breath before setting his hand on the handle, and opening the door gently. He hoped it was Bobby sitting there when he finally got the nerve to look up and see. 

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice was concerned. It drew Dean’s gaze to him, and past his watching father. He registered his father sitting across from Bobby when he felt the weight of the scowl on his father’s face, and peeked the crossed arms over his chest. “How’re you feeling, kido?” 

He took his time to respond, dazed. He’d kind of just stopped moving when he saw them, lost in the middle of the doorway, face pale, frame and features rumpled, eyes wide but unfocused. “Foggy.” 

“Come sit down, I’ll get you a water. You’ve been out all day.” Bobby was up and in action, coming over to help guide Dean to his now unoccupied chair. He made him sit and shot John a quick, hesitant look before hustling away to grab the young boy something to drink. 

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean murmured, eyes on his hands in his lap instead of his father across from him. He felt John watching him over the table. 

“You need any meds?” Bobby asked as he went about his task, bringing the filled cup back swiftly, hand on the empty chair at the end of the table.

“No, I’m fine...just, a little confused.” He glanced up at Bobby, feeling much safer meeting this man’s gaze than the one he had grown up idolizing. 

“What do you remember?” Bobby asked, taking the seat. 

Dean took of sip of water to stall, try to pinpoint his memories. “I….vaguely remember a hunt?” He looked up, expression clearly confused. “And laying in the back of the impala.” 

“Your daddy took you on a hunt the other night. He brought you back this morning. You’ve been sleeping all day.” 

Dean frowned, rubbing at his temple. He had a terrible headache forming from adjusting to the light in the room. “Feels like a week ago…” He closed his eyes briefly and felt himself waiver for a moment where he sat before his eyes jolted back open with a whole body jerk. “Sorry, I…” His head buzzed again, white noise drowning his thoughts. 

“Deano?” It was his Dad’s voice, soft from across the table. He nearly flinched at the sound of it. 

“It’s nothing, I’m fine....” He didn’t believe his own words for a moment. His hands were shaky as he brought the glass to his mouth as a distraction, gulping down the rest of his water. It did little to relieve the parched feeling in his throat. 

“What meds did he take last night?” Bobby asked softly of John as Dean’s vision wavered out again.

“It was a little green pill, something I’ve not seen before.” 

“Did he eat anything between then an’ you bringin’ him back?” Bobby’s tone was thick with frustration and accusation. The blank look of uncertainty that crossed John’s face had him grouching out “Are you deliberately being a dumbass right now?” 

“Hey!” 

“You shut it, John. Did you even care to read anything the doctors gave us? Any of it at all? And you think you can take him out on a hunt and have it turn out okay? You pigheaded fool.” He stood up with a scowl, going to the cabinets and pulling out a can of soup. “The boy hasn’t eaten a damn thing, has he?” 

“Of course he did!” John looked to Dean, only to see him exhaustedly draped over the table top, arms folded into a self contained barrier from the bickering, blocking out the light of the room, and fading out the world for a moment. “He...he ate in the car…” 

“Oh that’s certainly convincing me.” Bobby scoffed under his breath, rolling his eyes, putting a pot on the stove and pouring in the chicken noodle soup, extra chunky. The room was silent as Bobby waited for the soup to warm. The only break to the silence was when the floorboards creaked, causing both men to turn to see Sam standing in the shadows of the doorway, eavesdropping. 

“Well, come in and sit down.” He waved Sam in with the spoon. “Aint neither of yal eaten in hours. Causing all the drama in mah house. My wife’da made me sleep in the garage if she found you boys going hungry like this under my watch, or your daddy’s. She’da slapped us both.” He said, giving John a look to keep quiet when he saw that spark in his expression again. 

Sam reluctantly stepped into the room, taking the chair and moving it closer to Dean’s side, throwing a glare at John before placing a hand worriedly to Dean’s forehead, brushing sweaty locks away to see what he could of his brother’s pale face. 

“You okay, De?” He asked softly. 

A little shrug was his response. Dean thought Bobby might be right about the food, he felt drained, like he’d used all his energy and only woken to seek out calories he didn’t want to stomach. He couldn’t stand eating lately. Not that he’d really eaten very much anyways. He’d never turned down a meal before, until recently. He felt so thin and frail. Truthfully, he felt himself becoming the person he thought he was that night. Weak, defenseless, useless. It never mattered to him that they were bigger, sicker, and more practiced than anything they’d run in to before. Even on all the hunts lately; ever since Sam had really learned about what their Dad did, he became more vocal about it, and started pulling Dean on more hunts. They’d always won, always, even if they came out banged up. 

He’d lost that night. 

The room was silent, no one willing or able to breach the heavy burden in the room between them all. It was suffocating kind of silence, each person in their own heads. trying to find a way to make any of it better. The only thing they knew to heal it was time. They were all getting tired of the weight, the wait, the worry. 

Bobby brought the boys each some of the soup when it was done, coaxing Dean to sit up and take the spoon after setting the bowls down. Dean barely kept himself up on his one bended elbow as he made to spoon the food to his mouth, frame unwilling to support him. The smell made his stomach growl loudly even as the first sip hit his lips. He flushed, casting his gaze even farther under the cover of his hand were it held his head up weakly. 

He looked a sight, hunched on the table, pale and visibly exhausted. He worked on the soup slowly as Bobby gathered himself a new chair and sat between Sam and John at the edge of the table. 

The stronger Dean looked with each sip, the calmer Sam grew. He couldn’t eat until he knew Dean was alright, the worry was settling heavy on him still as he took on this new role for Dean. They’d always been there for each other, ups and downs, before, and he still was now. The physical changes, and the uncharacteristicness of Dean’s depressive state was scaring him. He kept praying and praying that Dean would find a way to move past it. He would do anything to see Dean happy and alive again. That he’d be able to sleep at night without seeing that nightmare image of his brother being broken by those men. 

“You never should have taken him.” Sam broke the silence without looking away from Dean. Each sip was a silent struggle for Dean, exhaustion so heavy he was barely staying awake over the steamy bowling. Seeing it made his chest ache, his soul feel like an empty pit in his heart. 

“Sam, don’t.” Bobby tried softly. 

“No. I’m not going to let this slide by.” Sam turned his gaze to his father, glaring even as he shook with frustration. “Look at him.” He hissed. “How dare you try to tell me this is acceptable. He needs help right now, not more shit thrown on his shoulders. This isn’t something he can move past at the snap of your fingers. They hurt him, and you did nothing to help, and you’ve done nothing but damage now. You treat him like trash. I’m sick of it.” 

“It was a mistake, Sam.” 

“What part of it, huh?” He scoffed at his father. “The part where you deliberately dragged him on a hunt or the part where you couldn’t be bothered to feed him?” 

“The hunt went fine! And I bought him a breakfast bagel from the bar. I thought he’d eaten it. Never seen him turn down a meal before.” 

“Do you even listen to yourself?” Sam wanted to throw his spoon at the man. “Maybe if you actually left us the right amount of money for once he wouldn’t be half starved all the time.” 

“Sam…” 

“Don’t jump into this, Dean.” Sam growled, turning to his brother quickly to see Dean’s pleading gaze. “I told Bobby about the drunk beatings.” He could feel his father’s shock from across the table, watching the horror wash over Dean’s face, the fear. 

“We’re going to get the papers for a custody change.” Bobby sighed, stepping up to their decision while the two were gone. He’d wanted to give it a little bit more time, try to talk to John more reasonably. “You’re a good man, John, but life on the road hunting is not the place to raise kids. You’re living in a dark world, and it’s catching up with your kids. If you don’t sign the papers we will call the CPS.” 

“I already have the number memorized.” Sam said proudly, wanting to rub it in his father’s face. He wanted Dean to be proud of him too, not stare at him with that betrayed look in his eyes. 

“You’re taking this too far, Singer. These are my boys!” 

“Your boy was the one afraid of his father beating his brother.” 

“So what, they’re just going to live here then?” 

“Yes. We have the room upstairs. They’d go to school like normal children, live their lives in the research seat instead of the soldier role.” 

“This is insane, Singer.” 

“It wasn’t his idea.” Sam grumbled, avoiding Dean’s fractured expression. 

There was a clear war going on behind Dean’s eyes. Disbelief and relief, fear and unexpected hope. He wanted to stay small, avoid the burning gaze John now turned to him for a reaction. Surely Dean would stay with his father. They were a good team together. 

“Dean…” There it was. The plea he dreaded. This was his father, sure he was a messed up man, but could he abandon his dad like that? After he saw how much he’d changed after Mary? Here was the hook pulling him back into the slaughter. 

“Dad...I can’t.” His voice was a croak. Dry and tired. He’d stopped eatting, pushing the bowl away from him now that he could focus a bit more on the life changing conversation taking place. 

“You’ll be back to normal in no, time, Deano.” His father’s eyes caught his at last. “You can’t let a few pigs hold you down.” 

Dean felt the burn of bile in his nose, swallowing it down with a weak shift of his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t answer for a moment, shutting his eyes tight before wearily reopening his eyes and focusing on the half full bowl in front of him. They had all gone quiet around him. 

“Please, never say that to me again.” He let out under his breath, covering his eyes and pinching at the bridge of his nose. “This is why I can’t.” He stated after a moment. He looked up to his Dad. “Did you really think that was okay to say to a person who was held down and raped?” He wavered on the words, realizing it was the first time he’d admitted it to himself. The first time he had said the words out loud. 

“I’m not okay, Dad. I’m really not.”


	9. Chapter 9

They got the papers, but they never made John sign them. John had approached Bobby the next morning and told him to make a contract instead. Put whatever limitations they needed on it, and he'd sign it. He just didn't want to lose his sons. He left the day after, disappearing for few months with a handful of calls to the house, hoping to hear Dean pick it up one day and ask him to come back. 

He asked about his son's every phone call, trying not to let Bobby or Sam hear his worry. If Bobby had been anyone else, he'd never have walked away. He trusted the man enough to know he'd keep the house safe, the dooways salted, the ammo stocked. 

He knew Sam would fall into the stacks of books with ease. He was worried, though. Constantly. Hearing it straight from Dean's mouth had been the trick. He'd seen him trying to fight it; seen his confusion, his pain, his deterioration. But he'd never really got it. 

His Dean. His first born, his beautiful Mary's look alike. God. Seeing that pain in Dean's eyes over that table, hearing the words from his mouth. It made it all clicked. His son had been humiliated, violated. He'd been there and seen it happen, and he still hadn't wrapped his mind around it. One hour. One hour still weighing on each new moment. 

He didn't know that back at Bobby's something had clicked for Dean, too. The weird, hesitant hope of not being dragged into that life any more, the safety and knowledge that he could stay there and not worry about rummaging through the garbage for their meals, or hustling pool to feed Sam ... it clicked. 

That didn't mean it was an instant fix, of course. When he got his strength back, the first thing he did was go out with one of Bobby's axes and hack a tree to pieces imagining those men, their faces, their words. When he'd wavered and collapsed exhausted to the ground in front of his attempt at carnage he'd wanted to take the blade and slice it across his weak wrists. He hadn't even managed that much damage. He knew he'd been stronger than this. In the days following he worked harder, pushed himself to get back into shape physically. Not to let it make him lazy.

Not having John there made him keep thinking about him. It felt weird not to have that military strict grounding. Bobby was calmer, didn't care if they goofed around. He never made them run, or practice boxing, or training with firearms. As long as they told the truth and cleaned up their own messes it was fine with Bobby if they came back in muddy from playing in the creek way out back. Nicks and bruises all over their knobby legs. 

The warmer it got the harder Dean wanted to push himself to get himself outside, to do things with Sam, to tease him, to get back to something normal. The rude awakening about sex they'd all gotten that night scared them both off of dealing with anyone for the summer anyways. They didn't have school or new friends to make for another few months. They spent all day together some days, sprawled exhaustedly across the same, too small already bed, arms and legs fighting for space all tangled atop each other. Gone to the world. Dean pushed himself to wear them both out, get their minds off of anything else and just commit to being real kids for a summer. They had to learn sometime, right? This was what it was all about, right? 

Vacation, a fresh start. They were still young and if Bobby said don't worry about the money, they didn't worry about the money. Dean started tuning cars in the garage, got his hands dirty, pushed himself into learning this trade. Sam sat straight back stiff over on one of the stools reading his books and taking notes, listening to Dean babble and curse. Sat through his sometimes violent emotional outburst on days when it surfaced again, when something built up from a low of one day until suddenly he was cowering in a corner when Sam pushed him playful, too hard. When the sound of metal clanging snapped him back to the echo of gun shots killing the rapist at his back. 

Each high and low kept them tighter bound. They forgot about monsters and ghouls and vampires. They let themselves forget. They became nearly inseperable. 

"Dean?" 

"Yeah, Samm''?" 

The two lay sprawled across Dean's tiny bed. They didn't really fit, but they lay facing each other with legs pressed firmly side by side, and bare toes wiggling at Sam's sides to tease him as they relaxed from a day out at the creek. 

"I don't want to go back to school." 

Dean opened one eye. He'd been leaning back against the headboard arms crossed as they listened to his Zepplin record on low. The player a treasure Sam and Bobby had found in the attic for him. 

"What's this I hear?" 

"I'm serious." Sam flushed, knocking his ankles against Dean's hip. "Haven't you thought of it? We're not going to be able to just do this all day. It's going to be weird not...being there in case you need me, you know?" 

It had been a while since either one of them had really said anything about it. They'd coasted through the hills, but they'd been able to do it in private, together. They didn't talk about what it meant to be separated, to have to deal with new people and actually care a little bit this time. They weren't just jumping school to school anymore. It excited and terrified him. 

"Oh." 

Sam would have rolled his eyes if he didn't know what else Dean had been dealing with lately that was occupying his mind. "Yeah, oh." 

Dean's face closed off, eyes fading in and out for a moment as he thought about what it meant. Every possible situation that might happen at school. Shit. 

"I'll deal." 

"I asked Bobby if we could get phones. You can call me if you ever need me. He said we could talk to the administration and get the teachers a note to let us step out of class if something happens." 

"I don't need a babysitter for school, Sam." 

"You know that's not what I meant." Sam huffed at him. 

"Ugh, I know." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face for a moment. "I'm sorry." He'd gotten much more apologetic ever since the incident, too. "Okay. Phones. Cool. Great." 

"I just want to help..." 

"I know, Sammy." Dean's face softened instantly, and he was opening up, shifting, half crawling over Sam to sit up side by side with him. "I just...don't know if I'm ready to deal with new people. I don't really have a choice. I just don't feel like me all the way again. I don't know what kind of person I'm going to end up being around these people." He had his knees up and his arms stretched out over them, rubbing his thumb over the same spot on the back of his knuckles without noticing. 

"We're gonna be okay, though." Sam reached between Dean's arms and slid his hand into his brothers, pausing the anxious worrying. "Okay?" 

Dean turned to face Sam, lips falling open on an anxious breath and faint nod. "Okay." His lips quavered into a faint smile before he was leaning in to Sam. He felt his heart heavy with the thoughts settling over him. He hadn't really dealt with other teenagers since the event. Hadn't really been in the public more than to work on people's cars. He would be trapped in a room with people that had no idea what had happened. No idea who he was , no one to care about him. Being seperate from Sammy's side was going to be the hardest part. He needed to just learn to block it out, focus on something else, anything else, even the class for heavens sake, would have to be enough to get him through it. 

"Sam?" 

"Yeah?" Sam's voice was soft near his temple. 

"Try not to worry about me. I mean it. If you act like it's okay then I'll know it is. Let me put faith in that, please?" 

"I'll do my best, Dean." 

"Good." He squeezed Sam's hand tight, holding it closer to his heart where the worry was still fluttering away anxiously.


	10. Chapter 10

~ ~ ~ That Day ~ ~ ~ 

"Sam, wait!" Dean stopped in his steps, eyes alert as he tilted his head, finger poised on his lips for silence. 

Sam went still instantly, taking an unconscious step closer to Dean as he heard the soft huff of laughter around the corner of the building. 

Without a sound Dean reached his arm out to guide Sam back against the flat of the wall besides them. There was a soft shuffle of shoes approaching leisurely their way. 

"Come out, come out where ever you aaaare." One of the men sing songed. "Be good little boys. We just want to talk." 

The chortle of laughter from the man's companion sent shivers of disgust running through Dean's veins. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus himself. He could feel Sam's hands clutching at his belt. He snapped open his eyes and glanced down to where he felt Sam sliding the knife he hid there out of his shirt. The younger boy made quick contact with Dean and then dropped to a squat to grab the blade at Dean's ankle before popping back up to press it into the older brother's waiting hand. 

Dean reached into his pocket, bringing out their emergency phone. He handed it back to Sam as he leaned around the edge of the building, taking a quick glance over the dumpsters around the corner. There were just the two of them, but they were big. 

'Bigger than Dad,' Dean thought anxiously to himself. He took another calming breath. They'd stalked them from the school, chased them into this storage complex. They'd lost their backpacks when the two men had tried to grab them right off the bat. Bad move. Dean had elbowed one in the face, and Sam had kicked the other in the shins and they'd both taken off running towards safety, Dean felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. They'd wanted them to come this way. They'd set a trap for them, and Dean had let them get trapped. 

Fuck, Dad was gonna kill him. 

"We know you're there." One of them gleefully chuckled. "You're on our turf. Come out 'n play like good boys. We'll go easy on yah." 

Dean scanned their current corridor. One end was a dead end, the other another corner around the next row of storage units, with just enough of a sliver of metal catching the light to let Dean know they'd blocked the way with a truck. They were trapped. He had to buy enough time for Sam to send their SOS. 

He couldn't see enough of the truck's front to tell if it was worth it to try to run and jump it.  
Maybe they could make it under? But that risked one of them getting trapped under there when the men caught up. They hadn't used them yet, but the men were both carrying guns with silencers preventing any hopes of raising attention from the sound. 

"Sammy?"

"Can we take them?" Dean's silence was enough answer for Sam. "We gotta try." 

"How far is the apartment?" 

"If he's there, we'd just need five minutes." 

Dean drew in a sharp breath. That was a long time to fight off two grown men with guns. They were trained by John Winchester, but they were still just kids. Sammy wasn't even a teenage yet. They could hold off back here for maybe a minute more. These pricks seemed like the type to gloat. Maybe they just had to play along. They seemed like the planning type, they probably had a place nearby, one of the storage units. They could play struggle til they got there, and then take them off guard. They thought they were just normal kids, right? They had no idea they had picked a fight with the Winchesters. 

Dean looked down at Sam. "Follow my lead. Put the knife in your sleeve. I think they have a unit here. We can waste time til Dad gets here. Play struggle." He indicated for Sam to follow him further down the alley way. Had themselves hide like normal kids. Maybe he could get them talking before they got dragged anywhere, too. Add a few more seconds for rescue to arrive. 

"Now where did you two pretty young boys go? I know your down here. No place to run baby boys." Dean cringed at the singsong tone. He could feel the weight of something ugly coming for him, knew he had to get out of here, soon or something really, really bad was gonna happen. He had to keep Sammy safe. 

It didn't take much more chatter before the men were there, staring down at them. Dean squeezed Sam's hand tight, not sure any more if he was asking for strength or giving it. His heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Run, it said, run. 

~ ~ ~ Six Years Later, May ~ ~ ~ 

"Dean?" 

"Dean!" 

"I know you heard me, where are you going?" Sam scampered after Dean, zig zagging through the back piles of junk cars in Bobby's junkyard. He'd gotten Bobby's text at lunch saying the university called asking about Dean. He hadn't been to class the past two days. Bobby didn't remember seeing him leave or come home, but he'd spotted him wandering in the back, staring off into the setting sun. Now he was trying to avoid his lanky younger brother. 

"Dean, come on. What can I do to help?" 

Dean stopped at the question, back to his brother, head down. "Who said I needed help?" He should be over this, he shouldn't be running because of something as stupid as this. 

"You're running, Dean." Sam said, coming closer slowly. 

"I'm fine." Dean said with a weak shrug, voice barely there. 

"Are you?" Sam reached out to gently touch his brother's shoulder. He could see the lines on his face, the weight of the past surfacing in Dean's mind again. Sam was practically in law school, and Dean finished his GED and had just started taking classes at the local community college. Sam was worried this was high school all over. 

"It's nothing..." He couldn't even convince himself with this lip trembling on the words. 

"I can see right through you, Dean. What's the matter?" 

Dean crossed an arm over his chest, the other's elbow nesting in his palm as he ran his right hand down his face, temple to jaw. Shaking his head. "Man, Sammy. I thought I got over this." 

"Talk to me." Sam gently stroked his hand down Dean's goose pimpled arm. He gently guided him to the hood of one of the cars, having him lean on it for stability. 

"There's...this guy. At school." His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips unconsciously, turning green eyes away from Sam. He was caged in by Sam's warmth, his long arms on either side of his hips on the car. They'd never been good with this, personal space. "He and I..." He didn't know how to go about his admission. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders and stared his brother down, swallowing hard before forcing nonchalance. "Got drunk and fucked." 

Sam's expression shifted in a split second. Dean watched it wash over his face, the change in his eyes as he unconsciously took a glance at Dean's lips before backing away physically. Nodding around the jealousy. "So you've got a boyfriend." 

"Did I say I did?" 

Sam's gaze snapped back up to Dean's. "Why are you telling me this?" 

"You know, you were patient. I'll give you that. You never once asked what it was like, recovering from it on that level." 

"I'm sor-" 

"No. No, no apologies." Dean brought two fingers up to press to Sam's lips, drawing their gazes back together. "You were right not to ask. I know you Sammy. I know me. It's not the sex that frightens me, Sam. It's ignoring instinct. It's ignoring intuition when the universe is yelling 'Do something!'" 

"What..." 

"He did ask me out, that guy. I said no." 

"Dean, I don't know where..." His mouth went dry. This was not how he'd anticipated this going. "What are you saying?" 

"I'm not scared of sex, Sammy. I'm not scared of walking down dark corridors or going to bars. I can take care of myself." 

"I know." Sam said with grit teeth. Dean had channeled his depression and rage into hooking up with anyone willing in highschool and forcing away the memory of that night with new sensations, new memories, anything to cover it up. Sam had watched him bumble through high school, fighting any jock dumb enough not to see how much smarter he was than them, how skilled and dangerous. 

"How long have you loved me, Sammy?" Dean asked softly, eyes gentle and glowing, the fading sun illuminating this earthy green gaze. 

"Always, Dean, you're my brother." 

"You know that's not what I meant. I mean how long have you wanted to throw out convention and ignore the fact that we're brothers? Because Sammy, I'm tired. I don't want to date this punk at school, I don't want to pick up strangers at bars. I don't want to run from that night. I loved you before I understood what adult love meant." 

"Dean. Are you...?" 

Dean shook his head, covering his mouth and turning his head away. If Sam was going to reject him he was going to be strong about it. Sam would be leaving him in a month or two. He'd found the letter Sam had been waiting for when he got home last night. Sanford. He was going to get left behind. 

"Dean. Look at me." 

Dean couldn't. He shook his head. 

"Look at me, or I'm walking away." 

Dean's eyes snapped up. He wouldn't. He hated the sympathy he saw in Sam's eyes. For Sam, green eyes were shimmering with barely contained tears. The desperation for Sam's attention, Sam's life entwined with his forever. 

"Dean. Don't you remember? We're inseparable. I've seen you trying to put distance between us for years, and I have to ask now, before I grasp at what you're giving at me and say fuck it all...Why now?" 

Dean's lips quivered before quirking up at the corners. "What's the date, Sammy?" 

Sam narrowed his eyes, lifting his left arm to examine the digital read on his watch. "Why today?" He whispered, holding his hand to his chest as he breathed in understanding. He wanted to hear Dean say it. 

"You know why, you asshole. Don't make this more of a chick flick for me. I'm bearing my soul here, I'm saying yes. To us. Should I not?" 

"No one said anything about stopping." Sam couldn't contain the grin bursting over his lips, staring into those gorgeous green eyes he's always adored. "I don't have to wait until midnight, do I?" 

"Are you serious man?" Dean lightly punched at Sam's chest, hands trembling open as they stalled on the muscles he felt beneath, fingers splaying wide across the thin tee-shirt. He could feel Sam's perpetual heat like a furnace on his palms. Hyper aware. "I can't make the first move, Sam." 

"Why not?" Sam leaned in closer at Dean's whispered words, grazing his nose down Dean's temple, across his cheek as he leaned in closer, hands sliding up against Dean's hips, his warm thighs heating the metal on the old car's hood. 

"You're my baby brother, Sammy..." The dry rasp of Dean's lips across his stubbled jaw made Sam's breath hitch. They were so close at last. "And I want you to fuck me." 

~ ~ ~ 

It had taken Dean years to understand the inner pull guiding him. Call what you will, once he'd gotten free from his Dad's phobias, his drill sergeant anger, he'd started noticing it more and more. The intuition, the instinct. 

He noticed it first in those early days, the way the fear clawed at him and he knew without guidance how to find Sammy wherever he was. A sixth sense of sorts. He'd felt it for years with each rebellious outburst that disrupted his sedentary life in Sioux Falls High. He'd been reckless, desperate, angry. So angry but always brought down, eased back to sanity with that dimpled smile. The little boy he'd protected his whole life suddenly getting so much bigger, stronger, older. 

No matter how dark his days had gotten, how dangerous his thoughts as he obsessed over that night, obsessed on the past and was weighted down by the stain they had left on him. Sam always found him. 

His world didn't make sense without Sam.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, and semi-short chapter. I'm working on finishing the long awaited final chapter, and wanted to post what I did have since I'm stalling out on the final paragraphs!

They'd both always been pretty bad at remembering when their own birthdays were. More often than not it was the other brother doing something to trigger that awareness, some one off comment made casually as if they both knew the other had forgotten. Having grown up on the road with their dads they'd been conditioned to forget the dates, to ignore that simple childhood pleasure of wanting something special for yourself for one day of the year. It was the same with Christmas and all those other silly holiday's that they never really got behind. Bobby had tried, made them days for family and meals filled with favorite foods. 

Staring into Dean's vulnerable, open gaze in the setting sun was the best gift he could have ever imagined. His brother was here, safe, whole, and asking him for this. 

"...I want you to fuck me." 

Sam felt his whole world stop at those words off Dean's lips. Dean's breath was hot against his cheek, trembling on the words he dared speak after so long. Forbidden fruit, those pink lips. 

He brought one hand up slowly, cradling Dean's jaw with his big palm, watching as his own thumb brushed against the dusting of freckles there. Freckles he knew like constellations, memorized over long summer hours, dark winter nights, red with panic and blotched with tears.

Dean's eyes fluttered closed, rose darkening the gentle golden brown flecks Sam had mapped a thousand times. Sam brought his other hand up, holding it to the side of Dean's neck, letting his other thumb rest on his brother's thundering pulse. His own thundered in his throat. 

"Sam..." 

"I love you." 

He felt the breath shudder out of Dean as he shifted, pressing their foreheads together, nose to nose, lips tingling like magnets being held apart. 

"Please..." 

"Dean." 

"Sammy. Please." Dean's brow wrinkled, jaw tightening as his teeth sank into his bottom lip with worry. He could feel the energy of Dean's hands as they hovered, wanting to grab hold but refraining. Still scared. 

"Dean, kiss me." 

He watched the teeth let go, the tip of a pink tongue dart out, and then like striking a match Dean surged forward, tilting his head in and pressing their lips together as his hands grabbed for Sam's sides, clutching the thin shirt fabric tight as he gave in. Sam let his hand glide back to lace into Dean's short hair as he returned the kiss with ease. 

It was a simple kiss, smooth and wet with the dip of tongue to tongue. It was the best of Sam's life. 

When they parted, reluctantly, Sam couldn't help the smile that curved his lips into a goofy grin. "Happy birthday to me." 

Dean's groan was expected, and the playful punch to his side let him know then and there that everything was going to be okay. This was new for them, but they were doing it together, just s they had countless other things throughout their lives.

"Just for that I am making you wait until midnight." 

"Ah, no fair." 

"No one said that time wouldn't be put to good use." Dean said, opening his eyes at last, emerald shimmering with mischief. 

Sam's heart felt too full, chest tight with so much emotion for his beautiful, stupid older brother. "I love you." He couldn't stop saying it now that he knew Dean understood. Now that he knew it was okay to be this messed up, to want this, to want his brother. That tight feeling crackled through his chest, dissipating through his veins as he leaned in again, pressing a kiss to those sinful lips as the world around him dimmed, the man in his arms brighter than any setting star. 

"You know..." Dean panted against his mouth between kisses. "I can feel your sappy thoughts." 

"Shut up, you like it."

"Couldn't live without it, Sammy." 

Sam pulled back, cradling Dean's face in his hands as he took a moment to just look at his brother. He didn't look like someone who had gone through so much trauma to get here. Golden brown hair glowed red in the fading late of the evening, the sky behind them turning a rich purple blue. He thumbed at Dean's bottom lip, felt the slick heat of their kisses against the pad of his thumb, watched the way Dean's eyes dilated just that fraction bit more. 

He felt heat curl through him, hot in his belly. "God, Dean, you're beautiful." 

"Don't..." Dean glanced to the side, "I don't..." 

"Would you prefer handsome? Gorgeous? Adonis? Cause you are, Dean, you really, really are, and we both know I'm not the first to think it." 

"Sam-" Dean's voice had a tone, firm yet cautious suddenly, the slightest hint of fear trembling in his voice. "If we're going to do this, I need you to promise me something." 

"Anything, Dean." 

"Never, ever, EVER-" Dean's eyes were hard, momentarily distant, and Sam knew before the words came of his brother's mouth what he would say, saw in his mind that one day in highschool when some dumb freshman jock had jokingly said it and triggered his PTSD, "call me...pretty." The word was nothing more than a dry, disgusted rasp.

"I promise." He didn't even wait a beat before saying it, seeing the hard steel in Dean's eyes assess him before softening again. 

"I mean it." 

"I remember. I know." 

Dean nodded stiffly, before clearing his throat and loosening his grip on Sam's shirt. He glanced down briefly, licking his lips and then huffing out a small laugh. 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Now, we're going out for a burger and pie, and we're going to celebrate." 

"Oh?" 

Dean reached behind himself, pulled out an envelope from one of his back pockets and handed it to Sam. He took it with a perplexed look, turning it over and looking at the heading. Sam didn't even have to open it to know once he saw the logo in the corner. 

"Did you open it?" 

"I knew." A negative shake of the head as warm hands settled on Sam's narrow hips. 

Sam nodded once, swallowing nervously. He pressed it to Dean's chest briefly, leaning into him for a moment of support before breaking the back seal and pulling the folded pages out. He flipped it open between them and let his eyes scan the page. 

'Congratulations!' 

He shut his eyes at the word, breathing deep before looking again. He forced his attention on the words, barely able to contain the bubble of pleasure, excitement, happiness growing in him. First Dean, and now this, and soon...

"Happy birthday to me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being patient with me as I was finished this story! Here is the final chapter. I never expected to make this story more than a one shot, or to make it my first real wincest. Enjoy! Love to all you readers.

They had a couple of drinks at the diner they went to, stomachs happy and content. Sam couldn't stop smiling. Every time he looked across the table at Dean, knew that his brother was going to be his, that Dean wanted him in that same, gloriously depraved way...this had to be the best day in his entire life. 

By the time they got in the car and started driving, he couldn't tell if he was tipsy or just high on life. He'd managed to contain the desire pooling in his belly until now, but sitting in the warm familiar leather passenger seat, knowing that the man next to him wanted this too, he couldn't stop the pressure from coiling lower, tighter, hotter. He'd be ashamed of how quickly he'd become hard if it was anyone else sitting next to him. 

They didn't say a word as Dean drove. Sam wasn't even sure where his brother intended to take them, but he was happy to be along for the ride. Dean drove with the music on low, one hand on the wheel and the other curled in Sam's long fingers. Even in the darkness, Dean seemed to glow, and Sam couldn't, wouldn't take his eyes off of him. 

When Dean pulled them down a long, dirt road, Sam perked up, eyes flickering to the outside world for the first time in what felt like hours. He bit his lip to stave off the questions boiling on his tongue. The drive took them twenty minutes into the deep woods, until a small clearing opened up on them and the edge of a small lake. There was a small wooden lean-to along the shore, with an aged fire pit. Sam could tell even in the dark that it was ready to be lit, firewood stacked by the structure, and fabric shimmered in the moonlight from inside the wooden haven. 

"Dean?" 

"You always wondered where I'd drive off to at night..." The shrug was casual, but Sam caught the nervous tremble in his eyes. They didn't keep too many secrets, not anything like this, usually. Sam had always known Dean had a retreat outside of town, found back in highschool, but he'd never brought Sam here before. "I thought it'd be more...private than Bobby's."

"Had this planned out, huh?" 

"Shut up." Dean murmured, putting the car in park and cutting the engine. They sat in silence for a minute before Dean cleared his throat roughly, pulled the keys from the ignition and cracked his door. "I'm gonna...get the fire going." 

Sam followed after a moment, watching Dean's flashlight flip on as he approached the darkened pit. He sat in the passenger seat for a moment longer, watching his brother move, breathing in the warmth of the impala before getting out of the car with a long stretch. Watching Dean bend over, he had to adjust his pants before venturing forward, taking in the silence of this space.The light of the fire quickly brought the place into light, practiced hands bringing the flames to life. 

"How'd you find this place?" 

Dean's laugh was soft, shy, as he added the larger sticks onto the triangle of crackling twigs beneath. "Funny story..." 

Sam circled the fire slowly, alternating between taking in the dark sparkling lake to his side, the cloudless night sky above, and what he now saw was a nest of sleeping bags and pillows Sam recognized from old motel rooms, Bobby's basement, and old blankets that he'd noticed months ago had disappeared from and been replaced in the impala. He spotted, too, an aged trunk tucked in the back corner.

"It was...uh," Dean cleared his throat, blew on the fire gently, and glanced to Sam's broad back. "A gift." 

"From who?" It was quick, suspicious., and Sam couldn't help it. 

"Dad." 

Sam turned to look at Dean, brows arching high on his brow. "Oh." He hummed in silence, glancing back into the lean-to. "Is this where you've been the past two nights?" 

"More or less, yeah." 

The silence that followed was easy, soft. Dean got the fire roaring, warm and bright, big enough to be left unattended for a while. Sam joined him after a little more exploring, lacing fingers into Dean's as he looked into the crafted flames. 

"You always were the best at camp fires." 

"You were always good at waiting." 

"Patience is a virtue." 

"Fuck virtue." 

"Already got plans to fuck something else, sorry." 

Dean's fingers tightened, and Sam couldn't help but smirk to himself. He'd known his opportunity would present itself, knew Dean would wear thin soon enough. Dean moved then, shifting so he was standing in front of Sam, bringing his free hand up to his own chest, clutching the tell tale shape of his bronze pendant beneath his shirt. 

"You gonna take care of me, Sammy?" 

"Always." 

"Are you hard for me?"

"Dean." It came out a groan, a confirmation, a hopeful nod; Prayer.

"Sam-" He didn't need to utter more, before the lanky younger male was leaning in, pressing passion into plump awaiting lips. He couldn't contain himself once he felt the heat of his brother on his tongue. His free hand came up, quickly grabbing on to short, thick locks of golden brown hair, bringing Dean's other hand down to press between their bodies, to feel the heat that was being caused because of Dean. 

Dean's low rumble was devoured by Sam's mouth, his lips parting that fraction further as he shifted in closer, letting go of the amulet to grab onto Sam's tee instead.

The heat from the fire quickly became too much for Dean, with the taste on his tongue, the weight on his palm, and the presence in front of him. Sam was already like his own natural furnace, and Dean knew he was going to burn up with his brother's hands on him soon enough. 

"Lean-to." He panted between wet kisses, pushing Sam gently on the chest to move backwards. 

"Yessir." Sam murmured sloppily into the kiss, hooking onto Dean's shirt with both hands now, taking blind steps backwards, trusting Dean to guide him safely. 

Feeling his knees hit the back of the wooden platform, and Dean's hands move to grab the back of his thighs and heft him up, waiting for him to move back a ways before bringing his own knees up on either side of Sam. 

The younger brother couldn't help the big, stupid grin on his lips every time they parted hungry kisses. Separated now, Sam couldn't help the groan of arousal as he watched Dean's glow framed form move to meet him, bowed legs bracketing him, strong hands coming in to pinch at his cheeks with a look that told him Dean was loving this, too. 

"Cute smile, doofus." 

"All for you, De." 

Dean reached then for Sam's shirt, pulling it up and off, pushing Sam down so his back bounced into the cushioned bedding behind him. Blunt nails tracked down Sam's shoulders, along his arms and to his wrists, grabbing them and pulling them to the hem of his own shirt. Sam was quick to discard it, tossing it behind him into the dark nest. Dean's bronze amulet swung between them, grazing Sam's chest, tip finding the center and hanging in mirror to the small scar still on Dean's chest. 

Sam's eye traced the simple cord from amulet to neck and back to Dean's eyes, taking in the supple roll of Dean's shoulder, his end of day stubble, the swell of his adam's apple. 

He licked his lips hungrily, hands gravitating to Dean's hips, teasing fingertips along the band of blue jeans, making their way to the buttons in the front, undoing them eagerly, laughing with his brother as they stumbled over the incoordination of forgetting their shoes were still on. Dean remedied that problem quickly, shimmying out of his pants and toeing off his shoes before hastily ridding Sam of the same, taking his boxers down with the rest of the fabric.

Dean's eyes roved down Sam's naked form with nothing but firelight reflecting in the darkness. The dark arousal tracking it's way down his ready body made Sam’s heavy cock twitch with need, pearling with precum. 

"Fuck, Sammy." Breathless awe made Sam's heart catch in his throat, trying to respond but being quickly side tracked by Dean dipping down, wrapping wide wet lips around his cock. 

The slick curl of tongue across pulsing heat made Sam groan, bringing fingers up to curl into short locks of hair, trying to watch Dean in the faint light. Dean worked his mouth half way down Sam's length before pulling back, panting, going for the sides and lower into the dip of thigh and cradled cock with the open mouthed licks and kisses, pressing into the ridges of veins. 

"Fuck yeah." Groaned disbelief at the skill behind that tongue. 

He let Dean work a moment longer before he was tugging Dean up, back to his mouth as he grabbed at Dean's thigh, pulling him in closer to his hips, grinding his semi-slick cock along Dean's damp, cotton boxers, wide hands pressing into back muscles and firm thigh. 

Soon he was pulling Dean closer, hitching himself backwards, up onto the soft fabrics and cushions, flipping Dean onto his back as soon as he felt the pillows at his own back. Dean's soft grunt and moan were music to his ears. 

"Where's the lube, Dean?" He asked as his calloused hand found Dean's cock, squeezing and stretching the wet fabric across the spongy head peaking out of the waistband. 

Dean worked through a low moan as Sam's finger dipped in and along the slit before he turned his head, opening hungry eyes towards the chest to his right. Sam took the hint, shoving his hand into his brother's boxers and working his hand around the head as he leaned over, using his free one to push open the lid, blindly fumbling around until he felt his hands cover a small bottle in one of the corners, tucked near what he assumed was deodorant, a box of condoms (which he retrieved as well) and a slim metal flask. 

"Snoop later, Sammy." Dean's groan and the warmth of slick wet against the pad of one finger brought his attention back quickly, to see the slight arch to Dean's neck as he watched Sam, hands clutched into the back of Sam's thighs. 

"Eager, huh?" 

"Shut up," Dean deflected, pinching Sam's thigh, arching up and rolling his hips into Sam's, hand trapped between them adding delicious extra pressure. "Get your fingers in me already." 

"As you wish." He stripped off Dean's boxers quickly, apologizing as he elbowed Dean in the stomach in the process of shifting out of the way. He made it up to Dean by biting at his hip and side, kissing down the trail of faint golden hairs, grabbing his brother's cock in one hand as the other pushed Dean's pale thighs open. 

He tried to free his hand up by taking Dean into his mouth instead, uncapping the lube and making a mess of his hand as he nearly gagged himself. Dean's soothing hands pulling him back off had him flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry." 

"Don't be. Just don't want my dick bitten off." His voice was soft, soothing Sam's sudden nerves. "You okay, Sammy?" 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm..." He stilled, feeling the slickness in his palm, dripping down his wrist, off his finger tips and onto Dean's still hip. "Overwhelmed."

"You ever do this before?" 

"No." 

Sam watched the shift in Dean's expression, the flicker of muscles moving, barely visible in the night's darkness, things Sam wouldn't ever notice if he hadn't been practiced in watching his brother's face for so many years. 

"If you don't-" 

"That's not it." He cut Dean off with a shake of his head, too quickly bringing his hand down between Dean's legs, partly cupping his balls as his fingertips brushed between each cheek. 

"Sam..." 

He froze in place, looking up, staring at that familiar face. He saw the worry wash over Dean's expression, felt the shift in his body as Dean brought a hand up to cup his cheek. "I..." He meant to try to reassure, to make his mouth work.

"What's going through that head of yours, Sam?" 

He let out a shaky breath, turning into the warm palm. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, kissing Dean's palm to try to reassure. He was still, silent, for a moment more, before moving his fingers, brushing lower, gliding slow over Dean's entrance as he shifted, nudging his knees under Dean's thighs. 

Dean echoed his silence, holding as he felt the first touch of Sam's wide fingers on that spot, felt the tease, the glide, the first press in, the first knuckle and the first finger pushing in until Sam's knuckles pumped against his skin. 

Sam didn't say anything until he had gotten into a steady rhythm, sliding in and out, twisting and testing, teasing. "I never..." His voice caught, and he retreated until he had worked two fingers in, earning a low moan from Dean at the stretch of wide fingers. "I never imagined you would want me back, you know." He twisted, trailed lube along Dean’s insides. "Always thought I was...that if I thought about it too long...imagined it in too much detail..." In this he seemed to gain confidence with each swirl, pumping in and out with each heartbeat, breath. "Thought I would hurt you, drive you away." He curled, pressed his fingers down, felt the jolt all the way through Dean's body, felt it in the toes on his ankle, the fingers in his hair, the breath on his temple. "God you're beautiful." He groaned, surging in for a kiss as he milked that spot for a reaction, feeling Dean's hips jerk, shift, adjusting against his as he pulled back once again, tongue dancing in place of the lower movements. 

"Shoulda known you'd be a talker in bed..." Dean panted when Sam broke the kiss, trailed his lips down Dean's neck instead, working along the exposed expanse Dean offered here as he tried to catch his breath. "Not gonna drive me away, Samm'" 

“Dean-“ Sam bit the name into its owner’s shoulder, pressing in a third finger at last, drawing a slight wince from the older male at the suddenness, and tight fit. “God, Dean.” 

“It’s ok, Sammy. ‘m yours.” 

“Dean, I…” 

“It’s ok, ‘m ready.” The slight slurring, the pants of breath, that tight grip on his skin everywhere Dean’s fingers scrambled were enough motivation, and Sam was quickly pulling his fingers free, earning a low groan from Dean as he caught his rim on the way out. “Com’on, S’mmy.” 

“Fuck-“ He fumbled with the condom packet, fingers shaking in his haste to comply, to be this with Dean. “Dean…fuck. Can’t believe…” 

“I know, come on.” Dean fastened both hands to Sam’s shoulders, thumbs cradling his pulse, their eyes meeting as Sam got the wrapper around his cock, still slick fingers smearing left over lube over the condom. “Want you, Sammy. Always wanted you.” 

Sam through the empty packet away, working his fingers at the base of his cock and squeezing, eyes tracking down Dean’s open form. He lined himself up, pressed the tip to the wet opening first, and then pushed in, feeling the ring of muscles suck his head in, and then spread as he pushed in further. He kept his eyes on Dean’s face as he pushed in, breath hitching at the way white teeth sank into soft pink lips, heavy lashes fluttering closed and then back to half lidded so he could watch Sam in return. 

“Fuck you’re big.” Dean groaned when Sam stopped, barely half way in, Dean’s hands curled into Sam’s thighs to still him for a moment as his body adjusted. “Christ.” He groaned as he shifted slightly, adjusting to the weight in him, over him, Sam’s heat radiating everyone around him. 

“You okay, Dean?” 

“Yeah, yeah...just, take it slow for a second.” He flexed his fingers, letting go of Sam’s thighs to move them up his sides, across his chest.

Sam complied, shifting back and drawing out as he watched Dean’s eyes follow his hands, eyes fluttering shut again when Sam pushed back in, rocking in small rolls at first until after a moment he’d managed to guide himself deeper into Dean, pressing into his thighs with his hips. He closed his own eyes, letting the feeling of being here, like this, with Dean wash through his senses. He could feel heat on his feet, the breeze of the nights air blowing through their open shelter against his already sweaty back, the pulse of Dean’s body wrapped tight around him. 

Their pants and sighs made a soft chorus to the crackle of the embers, and the slide of skin on skin. With each glide in and out, Dean became more at ease, body welcoming him in, until it felt like he was being swallowed each time, the way their hips caught a rhythm together after the clumsy first attempts, their slippery skin sliding hands along muscles, stretched tendons, the curve of each other’s bones. 

At some point Dean pushed him away, onto his back, and switching them so he was the one straddling, guiding Sam back into his stretched hole, and sinking his way down with a breathless moan, hands clutching at Sam’s shoulders for leverage as he experimented with getting the right push and pull of his hips, up and down, squeezing his muscles to tease when he saw Sam watching enraptured, Saw the pleasure blown eyes, the awe. 

“God, Dean…” 

“I gotcha, Sammy. You almost there?” He shifted, dropped, rocked his hips a little backwards, each push down punctuated by Sam thrusting up and using his grip on Dean’s hips to pull him down.. “Fucking huge…” 

“You like that, Dean? Fuck you look amazing riding me, no idea at all.... Can’t believe…” He dared to bring a hand away from where he was gripping Dean’s hips to help guide and punctuate. Sick fascination had him gliding a palm across Dean’s belly and press gently in with his thumb. Dean’s breath hitched, hips jerking down hard, and then Sam’s hand and both of their chests were being coated with Dean’s broken moaned release. 

Sam gasped, unexpecting the tight squeezing, the feel of his own head pressing out against Dean’s belly, and seconds later the feel of his own release pulsing inside of Dean a fluttered feeling on his thumb. “Holy fuck…” 

Dean slumped over a moment later, hot breath shattered against Sam’s throat as they both came down from the sudden intensity. It was a few minutes before Dean let out a groan of discomfort, shifting weakly up and off of Sam with a grimace as he glanced to his own belly and the sticky mess he’d made. Sam couldn’t help the chuckle that familiar look drew from him, reaching his messy hand between them and trying to scoop some off his brother’s belly. He caught Dean’s eye as he brought his hand up to swipe a tongue across his palm and up his middle finger.

“Made a mess, De.” He purred when he saw the bob in Dean’s throat. 

“You’re fault.” Dean grumbled, eyes tracking the second and third swipe of tongue. “Gonna clean it all up for me?” 

Sam smiled softly, “After that show, definitely.” 

“Didn’t expect that…” Dean’s expression became shy, teeth worrying his lower lip for a second before releasing on a silent breath. 

“That makes two of us.” Sam dropped his hand, settling it on Dean’s sweat cooled, but still slick hip, turning onto his side and wrapping one long leg around Dean’s own bowed out ones. “It wasn’t too much, was it?” 

“I think if I’d had time to think about it first, it would have been.” Dean answered honestly. “Took me off guard…” 

“Worked out for the best, though. Christ you’re magnificent when you come.” 

Dean deflected the compliment with a wrinkle of his nose, a blush Sam didn’t need light to see, and turned to stretch towards the trunk, retrieving a hand towel and water bottle and using them to wipe them both off without a word, touch gentle as he wiped Sam’s oversensitive cock and up his belly. He tossed the towel aside when done, setting a hand to Sam’s chest over one warm pec, and leaning his forehead against Sam’s. 

“Hey, Sammy?” 

“Yeah, Dean?” 

“Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you so much! Thank you for sticking with me as I worked through this emotionally charged story. Hope it met everyones expectations. Sorry for any and all spelling/grammar mistakes. I try to read over each chapter before i post, but writer brain takes a while to catch up on editor's brain. I'll edit as I reread through! Love yal!


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